Treasures
by Dylan Cruca
Summary: In the early 18th century, a merchant sailor named Kurt Weller finds himself the prisoner of the elusive and infamous pirate, Jane Doe. Completely ridiculous AU.
1. Chapter 1: Destiny

**A/N-So apparently my last AU wasn't weird enough for me, so I'm trying this. Snapdragon83 and gypsyscarfwoman were throwing around ridiculous AUs, and gave me a pirate one. I LOVE pirates. I think they were joking, but the idea kinda stuck in my brain, but I didn't know where to go with it. Then itsfridaysomewhere gave a completely unrelated suggestion, but that made me realize what I wanted to do with this (Sorry, B, I am completely taking your request in a weird way. I'm sure it's not what you _meant_ , but it inspired a lot of the plot of this story).**

 **So, I took all of these lovely ideas and smashed them. I'm really not sure if this is going to work, but I feel like I want to write it anyway. Hence this completely insane Pirate!Jeller fic. It's T for now, but I highly doubt it will stay that way because, well, me. Have I mentioned this is completely ridiculous?**

 **One final note…I did enough research to make this story somewhat plausible to its time, but I don't have the hours to make sure everything is entirely accurate. Please excuse any historical inaccuracies.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Destiny**

When Kurt Weller had dreamed of a life of adventure, he'd never imagined ending up imprisoned in the stale belly of a pirate ship, hungry and thirsty and generally miserable.

In 1712, while still only a boy, he'd taken a job loading and unloading ships at the port in New York as soon as he was strong enough to carry the requisite weight. It was by no means a well-paying job, but for the uneducated son of a drunkard, it wasn't bad work.

Sometimes his sister, Sarah, would bring him food at the pier, and talk about how one day she'd live in one of the finer houses in town, with a cook and a maid, and a husband who would have the finest dresses brought to her from overseas. Kurt would laugh and listen, often wondering what sort of life she'd truly find. He feared that she'd be wed off to a man like their father, and hoped to do what he could to prevent such a thing.

Kurt worked hard and complained little, and was often offered jobs on the merchant ships. He considered it, but when he thought of his sister alone with their father, it was more than he could abide.

As a teen one evening, he'd seen a man outside of a tavern, bloodied from a fight he'd clearly lost, as thieves searched him for spoils. Kurt had walked past, initially, tired after a day's work and wanting to find his way home and to his bed before the sun rose again too soon in the morning. But as he heard the ruffians plotting, he felt a pang of guilt and went back. The thieves were mostly young kids, probably hungry themselves, and they stared up at him when he approached. "We found him first," one filthy girl argued.

"Take the coins," Weller offered, "but leave the man alone."

Before he could change his mind, the kids took the small coin purse and other trinkets and ran through the streets, poorly covered feet squishing through the mud. Weller helped the man up, took him home and shared his supper. The man, Thomas Clarke, turned out to be a member of the Royal Navy, a younger son of someone not entirely unimportant, and he and Kurt became friends. Thomas quickly took an interest in Sarah. Since he was a good man, and he and Sarah seemed thoroughly smitten, when he'd asked for Sarah's hand in marriage, Kurt was pleased. Sarah would have to move with Thomas to the West Indies, but she'd be able to live a better life than the one she'd known thus far.

In the months after Sarah's wedding, Kurt decided to take a position as part of the crew on one of the merchant ships in the hope of making his fortune and finding some adventure. Sarah had found her own life, and it was time for him to find his.

He sought out Pellington, Captain of _The Brianna_ , and a privateer of sorts, known for safely transporting highly valued items through treacherous waters. Kurt offered his services, knowing of the inherent danger. Sailing with Pellington seemed like the best way to find adventure and fortune quickly, and perhaps earn enough for his own ship one day.

Pellington knew Weller and his reputation for hard work, and had often tried to recruit him, so with little hesitation, he brought Kurt on as a member of the crew. Pellington offered one final warning, wanting the young man to know that there was definite danger in their routes. Kurt was willing to accept the risks, full of excitement for the future. He also knew that _The Brianna_ often went to the West Indies, and Kurt thought that would be the easiest way to check in on his sister from time to time.

Once he'd made up his mind, he didn't look back, hopping aboard the ship and setting sail through some of the most dangerous waters known to man. Although _The Brianna_ sounded sweet by name, it was well known as a dangerous ship to attack, and its reputation saved them from many conflicts. While the sleeping quarters weren't the nicest, and sometimes food was scarce, Kurt loved life on the sea, and the wide expanses of blue on all sides. On deck, the air was different, cleaner and sweeter than the filthy streets of New York.

Many of the crew were fond of him, and he was often considered to be Pellington's favorite, although the Captain wasn't prone to showing fondness for anyone or anything. But the Captain taught Kurt about cartography and navigation, and a great deal about how to run a ship.

Kurt felt like he'd found his destiny, and lived his dream for the next few years. He had no desire to settle back in New York, or really anywhere, unwilling to give up the freedom and excitement of his life. That is, until they were attacked.

Two pirate ships converged on them in the night, their crew quickly overtaken and goods raided. Pellington and many of his crew were hanged from masts. Only a few of the youngest and strongest were kept alive.

And so he found himself a prisoner, stuck in the dark belly of a pirate ship. Kurt hated these pirates, loathed the way they'd stolen his freedom and killed his Captain. He vowed to himself that he would survive his captivity. He was many things, but he had never been a coward or one to surrender without a fight.

For two days he and the other prisoners swayed through rough waters in almost complete darkness. Twice each day, a cabin boy came below deck, giving each captive one piece of hardtack before he swept a ladle of ale over their outstretched hands. The ale was barely adequate to soften the hardtack enough to eat. Kurt tried not to breathe in the horrible smells of that dank place, missing the crisp air to be found on deck, closing his eyes as his muscles began to ache with the need to stretch. He was desperate to run or work, or do anything besides sit, helplessly chained.

When the boat finally anchored and the hatch opened, Kurt wondered if they were all being marched to their deaths, although it seemed foolish to transport these men only to kill them. They were all brought on deck, guarded by pirates with swords and whips who looked too eager to use them to inflict pain. The prisoners were all put to work. Those days of labor were hard and long, with no pay and little to eat, and their captors were ruthless, often hurting the captives simply for sport.

He could quickly tell that the life of a prisoner was a short one, as many were killed outright or thrown overboard for the smallest signs of weakness. The Captain was typically nowhere to be found. One morning, the first mate was savagely beating one of the captives, cutting off his hand as the other prisoners helplessly watched. And then they all froze when a door opened and closed, everyone growing silent as they stared at the infamous Captain Briggs. She was rather diminutive, with tanned skin and pale hair, and cold eyes that glowered unrelentingly.

They'd all heard of her, of her viciousness and greed, and Kurt did his best to keep his eyes cast down. She approached the first mate, looking down at the prisoner with the recently lopped off hand, and she asked, "Why are you crippling my workers?" The once terrifying first mate seemed less intimidating when faced with Captain Briggs. She reached out, smiling, touching the first mate's shoulder like a mentor would, and she said, "These prisoners belong to me. You destroyed my property."

"I'm sorry, Cap'n," the first mate nervously muttered.

"I know you are," she replied, very calmly taking out her sword and running through her own first mate before the other pirates threw him over the side.

The man whose hand had been taken looked up and thanked her, and she smiled down on him and said, "You're useless to me," and she killed him as well.

That night, the few remaining prisoners didn't make a sound below deck, all feeling like a noose was already around their necks and they were just waiting for it to tighten.

The next day, the prisoners heard the crew mention a meeting between pirates, and two other ships under Briggs' orders came to meet. The prisoners were divided up and moved to the other ships.

Kurt, although relieved to leave Briggs behind, didn't know if the circumstances on this second ship would be any better. This ship was smaller and faster, like a modified scout ship or frigate, designed for exploration and speed more than intimidation or battle. Kurt hoped to hell the conditions would be better there.

He'd heard of Captain Briggs, everyone had, but he was surprised to find the captain of their new ship was female as well. Typically it was considered back luck to have women aboard a vessel. The new captain was dressed from head to toe in black, except for her shirt which was a deep crimson, a color that a true lady would never wear. Of course she didn't seem like any lady he'd ever met.

The prisoners were all chained on the deck of the boat. As the new captain inspected her acquisitions after the meeting with Briggs, Kurt heard two men near him whisper when they saw the edge of a tattoo of a graceful running deer on her wrist that extended onto her hand, and seemed to realize who she was. He heard a hushed whisper travel along the line like a string of waves, "Jane Doe."

Kurt had always believed that Captain Briggs was real, but the tales he'd heard of Jane Doe, well he'd always thought those were myths and stories. She was known for her ability to appear and disappear with ease, blending in like deer hiding in the woods, seldom seen. She was known for robbing ports without ever being noticed until it was too late. She also had a reputation for being capable of dispatching of her enemies without being caught, her victims often alive and well in one moment, stone cold dead in the next, without an attacker ever being seen.

She stood in front of them, all of the captives still on their knees, and commanded, "Follow orders, work hard, you'll get what you deserve. If you don't…you'll get what you deserve as well."

That was all she said, the threat hanging in the air. With a reputation like hers, nothing else seemed necessary to say.

* * *

This smaller ship took them to different shores in Kurt's first days upon it. All aboard were sent to dig in the sand. Jane Doe was typically seen in the backgrounds of their digs, seldom interacting with anyone else. Often she'd disappear on the island for long periods of time before she'd emerge again.

While she inspired a great deal of fear, Weller noticed that she'd order some of her crew to cut down coconuts or bananas, or net some fish to reward the best workers. The work was backbreaking, but at least hard work was noted, and prisoners who worked hard weren't abused for sport. He didn't doubt that she was cruel, every bit the tyrant that Captain Briggs was, but at least she knew how to properly motivate.

After working on Captain Doe's ship for nearly a month, he saw her one day while digging deep in the sand and gravel. She'd been gone most of the day, and once she returned, she stood in the distance, and he felt certain she was watching him.

That night, moments after being returned below deck once again, he tried to sleep. His hands were raw from work and his entire body ached, but he wasn't about to complain. Complainers disappeared.

One pirate, Perry, a man with a particularly unpleasant reputation, came below deck and kicked Weller's leg. "Your presence is _requested_."

He heard the whispers behind him as he was led to some new unknown hell. His body was already exhausted, and he desperately needed rest and the night's rations. He was taken to the captain's quarters, hands and legs in irons, and shoved through the door, falling onto the wide plank floors.

"Captain Doe," he said, feeling Perry kick him to the ground again.

Perry growled. "She's not my captain. We all sail under Captain Briggs."

"That may be true," Jane Doe said, striding confidently up to Perry, "but this is my ship, and if you want to remain on it, you answer to me. Unshackle him and leave."

Perry _accidentally_ kicked Kurt one more time for good measure, but opened the heavy irons and said, snidely, "Yes, _Captain_."

The moment he was gone, Doe lowered a heavy wooden bar across the door so they wouldn't be disturbed.

She had several lanterns lit around the cabin, and it was the best look he'd ever really had of her. She wasn't wearing the long heavy coat that usually covered her figure, but only the loose crimson shirt, breeches and boots, much like any sailor. She filled the clothes in a much nicer way, he thought, chastising himself for even the momentary consideration of anything of the sort in regards to someone he despised so much.

He rubbed his sore wrists and waited to find out exactly what was expected of him. She walked past him, seemingly unconcerned that he might attempt to overpower her, and then, as if reading his mind, said, "If you even try to attack me, you'll regret it terribly. Put any such thoughts to rest."

Something about the way she said it made him certain that was true. He simply nodded, and watched while she walked behind the table, her back to the wall, still facing him as she took out her map, compass, and other charting tools.

"Rid yourself of those rags and clean up," she ordered, pointing at a wooden tub full of water. "You're filthy."

He considered, momentarily, arguing that he hadn't been given any clean clothes or a chance to wash since he'd been enslaved, but thought better of it. He looked at the tub again, then at her while she worked, and he asked, "Right here?"

Without looking up, still studying her map, she blandly said, "You have nothing I wish to see."

Her words were dismissive, but more perfunctory than cruel. Still, he covered himself as best he could, tossing his ruined shirt to the side only after most of him was beneath the cover of water. For a few minutes, he glanced at her, waiting for something terrible to happen, but she just kept working like he wasn't even there.

The water felt unbelievably good. It was kind of warm, soothing on his muscles even though he was crammed in there, and he was finally able to remove the thick and seemingly endless layers of grime pasted to his skin with sweat.

As casually as he could while washing, he gazed at her, noting her unflinching concentration, and the more he looked, the more beautiful he realized she was. She seemed somehow different than Briggs and even the other pirates. The flames from the lanterns near her danced as her green eyes skimmed over the page.

When he was done washing and the water began to feel too cool, he reached for his dirty clothes, and she said, "Burn those rags."

He cleared his throat. "Captain?"

"What?" she tersely replied, still focused on her parchment.

"I don't have anything else to wear." The clothes that had been on his back were literally his only possessions, and he hoped beyond hope that she wasn't going to send him off without anything to dress in.

She sighed at the inconvenience, standing, going toward the door, lifting the wooden bar, and shouting something to Perry. He returned in a few minutes, and Doe tossed clean garments on the floor near Kurt without so much as glancing his way before returning to her work yet again.

He brushed away much of the water before he hastily pulled on the offered underclothes so he was covered. He reached for the rest of his clothing, and she ordered, "Leave the breeches off."

Wondering what her plan was, he reminded himself again that he hated his captors, but of them, she didn't seem all that terrible. Or maybe she was some exotic type of siren, tricking him with beauty instead of song.

But she remained inscrutable, so he finally asked, "Is there work for me here, ma'am?"

She shook her head and looked up, like he was interrupting more important matters, and she put down her quill. "Oh," she rubbed her eyes tiredly before she looked over to the side of the room and pointed toward another table. "Eat."

"Eat?"

"You aren't hungry?" she asked with disbelief.

"Of course I am."

"Then eat," she waved at the table, and he didn't have to be told again.

He sat and lifted a lid from a heavy pot. Inside there was some kind of stew with rehydrated meat. Some tropical fruit was in a bowl nearby. Eating directly from the pot, he began to scarf down the stew before she changed her mind.

"Don't eat too quickly," she commented. "You'll make yourself ill."

He bobbed his head and tried to slow, finding it hard. It was the best thing he'd had in a very long time, although he knew it probably wouldn't be considered very tasty under normal circumstances. After he'd begun to fill himself, he asked, "Shall I serve you your meal?"

"No," she answered.

He wanted to ask what this visit was about, but decided against it. Sitting in her cabin was better than in the hold, and she only looked irritated when he interrupted her.

Quite a considerable amount of time had passed when she stood, stretched and walked over to him. When she motioned, he got to his feet, and waited to see what she required. "Off you go," she emotionlessly said.

She put her hand on his back, not roughly but firmly, and guided him to the door. Opening it, she seemed to make sure some of the crew saw them together. She swooped up the breeches from the floor and pushed them to his chest. "Don't forget these," she said, suddenly looking rather amorous.

He was baffled by her sudden flirtation. She'd barely looked at him, and now her hand was pressing against the center of his chest before she brought her lips near his and said, "You were not a disappointment."

"Thank you?" he answered.

Looking at Perry, she said, "This is mine. Make sure everyone knows."

"Yes, Captain," he growled.

Before she retreated into her cabin, she said to Perry, "I'll consider you personally responsible if he's ruined."

Weller was taken below deck with the others and Perry looked at them all after he shoved Kurt into the cage again. "This here is the property of Jane Doe. She doesn't like her property being tampered with. Everyone understand?"

The other captives all nodded their agreement.

"Last thing that belonged to the boss that was messed with…the whole gang disappeared. Don't let the pretty eyes fool ya. She'll squash you like a beetle and with less remorse."

* * *

The next day was filled with more digging as if nothing had changed. Yet again, he saw Captain Doe disappear from the pack and trust her crew to keep the prisoners working. He kept replaying his visit to her cabin in his mind. Clearly she wanted her crew to believe she'd taken him as a lover, but why? What work was she so engrossed with?

When she returned to the dig site, she appeared irritated, waving everyone to return to the boat with little interest as to what had been found during the dig.

She called for him every night for the next several days. Some nights she gave him fresh clothes, but every night she offered him whatever food was in her cabin. And every single night, she barely spoke a word to him.

One evening she allowed him to stay in her cabin later than normal, although he wasn't certain if it was because she'd forgotten he was there or if she was offering a kindness. He'd been enjoying the fine rum she'd allowed him to have, and maybe he was feeling more relaxed than was wise.

He walked over to the table where she worked, and watched as she pulled a different map over the map and notes she'd been working on to hide them.

"I'm an excellent navigator," he commented. "And a decent map maker."

She put her tools down and looked up at him, a twitch playing at the corner of her lips. "Too bad you don't have a ship."

"Too bad," he agreed. "But since I am your prisoner, perhaps I could be of more use to you than someone to eat your food, drink your drink, and pretend to share your bed."

Her head tilted and for a moment he waited for her hand to reach for the sword in the belt that hung from the chair behind her and run him through. Instead she appeared a little amused. "Are you challenging me?"

"No, Captain," he answered quickly. "I'm…offering my services since I'm grateful for the kindnesses you've offered me."

She folded her arms across her chest, taking a deep breath. Her fingers tapped against her elbow as she thought. "What makes you think you'd be of any help to me?"

"I'm not sure that I could be," he honestly answered. "Perhaps if I knew what you're looking for?"

She leaned forward on the table, and he realized this was, by far, the most she'd ever spoken to him. "I'm a pirate," she answered. "And like all good pirates, I'm supposed to be looking for gold."

He touched the parchment she used to cover her real work, still uncertain whether or not she might cut off a finger or kill him and toss him overboard. "So you're _supposed_ to hunt for buried treasure chests. But what are you truly looking for?" His finger pushed the covering map away, and his eyes poured over the larger map and a series of codes and symbols she'd marked.

"Some treasures don't come in buried chests," she answered, covering her work again.

"What sorts of treasures?"

"What reason would I have to confide in you?"

"I've been trustworthy so far. I haven't told anyone that I'm just cover for you. I haven't told them what I've seen you working on, or that we've never shared a bed. I've never told them anything. I'm not a fool. I know you're using me to excuse your hours of work in secret."

Before he was even able to flinch, she was up, hopped over the table and somehow took him instantly to the ground. The next thing he knew, she was towering over him, her boot firmly planted against his chest. She scowled, "I don't need to make excuses. This is my ship. I am the Captain, and I do as I please."

"I only meant…perhaps I could assist you. And I can be trusted," he said, somewhat surprised when she sent him back to the hold unharmed.

The next several days, she called for him, but they didn't speak a word, and he didn't press his luck. The food and hours of near freedom were nice, but in truth, he was fascinated by her. Beneath the fearsome captain with a face of stone, there was a beautiful, sorrowful woman.


	2. Chapter 2: Fortune

**A/N-Well, thanks to everyone who showed an interest in this. I am really excited, and honestly having far too much fun writing it. The rating will likely change for the next chapter, largely because I'm having trouble writing the pirates in the next part without the appropriate amount of profanity. So if you can't find it, it's because the rating changed up.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Fortune**

More than a week after they'd argued, she called him to her cabin, but this time her usual maps and documents weren't on the table. A single large map and her navigation tools waited. She pointed to a spot on the map and said, "Okay, navigator, show me the best route to Nassau from here."

It took Kurt a bit to remember, since it felt like the thinking part of his brain had atrophied from lack of exercise. After a few moments, he shared some of what he'd learned. Although she didn't appear overly impressed, she wasn't disappointed either, and mostly listened while he talked. Once he was finished explaining, he stood at attention and awaited her assessment.

"What else do you know, navigator?" she pressed.

"Weller."

"Pardon?" she asked, already appearing irritated.

"My name, Captain, is Weller."

"I see," she nodded. "So you know your name? Is that the extent of your knowledge?"

"I know a few other things," he said with the whisper of a chuckle. "I'm good with rigging, and I can sew and repair sails."

She nodded, "Royal Navy?"

"No, Captain. Just a merchant sailor."

"Can you fight?"

"If called upon. I can handle a flintlock pistol or load a cannon. And my fists have served me well."

"Anything else?"

"I'm a hard worker."

"Noted," she said, with a hint of approbation.

"Is there a task you have in mind for me?"

He could see the pause as the gears turned in her head. "A small one, to start. I'll see what you're made of."

"I won't kill or otherwise harm an innocent," he said, unwaveringly.

"And if I order you?"

"Not even then."

"Do you have any objection to posing as a member of my crew? If you do, I could easily find someone else to—"

"No objection. I do have…a _request_."

"What's that?" she asked, again appearing entertained by him.

"More food for the prisoners below. They're hungry. And a few minutes of leisure on deck each day. Just a few."

She stared without relenting, perfectly relaxed, he guessed not one to be intimidated by negotiations. Eventually she nodded only once, replying, "On the days when I have some rations to spare. But you'll be responsible for helping to refill our supplies whenever we dock."

"Gladly, Captain," Kurt said, smiling at the small victory. After all, he didn't like eating his fill while the others had so much less.

"When time permits, they can have a few minutes of fresh air on deck after work assignments," she added.

"Accepted."

Studying him for another few seconds that ticked away like an eternity, she eventually replied, "You'll see Weitz tonight. Tomorrow morning you'll be brought here before we head to shore to ready yourself and take your orders."

"Weitz?" Kurt asked before she strode out of her cabin with him following closely behind.

Weitz was in the middle of a dice game when Captain Doe approached. Kurt thought for a moment that the man was going to plead to continue his game, but he quickly finished his round and stood. "Captain Doe, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

"This one needs to look less like a mangy prisoner."

"Mmm," Weitz nodded. "By which you mean prettier or scarier?"

Doe stepped back and glanced at Weller before answering, "A little of both wouldn't hurt. Think enforcement."

Weitz nudged a barrel with his foot and Weller sat, but as he turned to ask the Captain what this was about, he realized she was gone.

"You're a shaggy one," Weitz commented, and Weller launched from his seat when Weitz produced a blade. Weitz laughed, leaning on his knees, howling as he explained, "Didn't she tell you? I'm the barber."

Weller, heart thudding in his chest, asked, "The what?"

"The ship's barber, plucked straight from the Dutch West India Company's fleet," Weitz bowed.

"What use does a pirate ship have for a barber?"

"Even pirates like to look presentable when they visit… _ports of call_. I'm a member of the crew first and foremost, equal shares for equal work. But when called upon I'm happy to give a trim."

"Oh," Weller nodded, realizing that in all of his encounters with pirates, they weren't as matted as the prisoners.

"Sit," Weitz said, grabbing a handful of Kurt's hair and hacking away at the fuzzy mess until it was tightly cropped.

Weitz was outwardly friendly, offering an almost constant smile that felt disingenuous. There was something about him that was simply not to be trusted, even though he seemed kinder than any of the other pirates Kurt had met. He asked, "How did you end up here?"

"Press ganged," Weitz replied, "initially. Like most of us. But I've no regrets. Pay is better. Life, overall, is better."

Kurt felt less comfortable when Weitz began to trim back his beard, the sharpened edge at his neck. But the man was surprisingly good at rocking with the sea as he scraped away the hair. Kurt couldn't help but overhear the conversation from the men who were still betting nearby. He was positive he heard treacherous words.

Weitz, as he worked, talked under his breath. "Strange, right? Sailing under the command of a woman?"

Weller shrugged. "Certainly not typical."

"Nothing typical about that one. You've heard how she came to know Captain Briggs?"

Kurt shook his head, "I haven't."

"Well…" Weitz conspiratorially whispered, glancing around to be sure they weren't heard, "when you're in need of gossip, the ship's barber is your man. Doe killed Briggs' daughter for nothing more than giving her a strange look. A _look_!"

"What?" Kurt turned so quickly he was lucky Weitz didn't cut into his skin. "Why didn't Briggs take her revenge?"

"She planned to. There's no one more ruthless than Captain Briggs. She only wants the strongest and most fierce by her side. When Doe killed Briggs' daughter and faced retribution without fear, Briggs was impressed. When they fought, Doe was so tough and so courageous that Briggs decided that to kill her would be a waste of talent. Briggs'd only want the most vicious as her protégé, and sort of took the younger under her wing. And so the story goes. Doe is heir to Briggs' legacy of gold and blood."

Doe had quite the reputation, and Kurt was beginning to see why. Although it seemed odd to imagine the quiet and studious Captain murdering someone without good reason.

"You're probably not used to being imprisoned by a woman!" Weitz interrupted.

"Not used to being the prisoner of anyone."

"Being a prisoner doesn't seem too bad for you. Who else has female companionship on a nightly basis?" Weitz laughed, but Kurt felt like Weitz was attempting to ferret out any information about the Captain.

Even though he still promised himself he despised the captain and all that she stood for, he already felt a creeping sense of loyalty, and he wasn't going to betray it. He went along with her deception. "There are certain…advantages to being her prisoner. Hard to complain, at least for a few hours a day."

Weitz lewdly chortled at the comment. "Funny, though, she's never kept company with any of the crew, isn't it? I've heard of one or two, but they were before my time. Maybe she likes having all the control. A man she can use as she pleases and then cast aside for a new one."

Again Kurt felt Weitz's prying, and joked, "I've seen the crew. She was wise to pick me."

The barber grinned, but leaned closer, like he was trimming some uneven ends of Kurt's hair. "Enjoy that bed while you can. Soon, things will be made right."

"What do you mean?"

"Tides change. You know how the sea can be. Just remember, when they do…make sure you're standing on the right side of the current. Choose well."

Kurt tried to decode the conversation as he wondered if Weitz was speaking of mutiny, or maybe he was ordered by Captain Doe to test the prisoner's loyalty. Kurt shouted when a few buckets of chilly water were thrown at him, washing most of the stray hairs down onto the deck and soaking him thoroughly. He didn't have time to ask anything else before he was led back down into the hold.

* * *

The next morning, shortly before dawn lit the sky, Perry came below deck to fetch Weller. This time he didn't shackle him.

Perry nodded toward the door of the Captain's cabin and told him to go in. Kurt wasn't sure if she'd be awake at this hour, and, not wanting to disturb her, tapped the door and heard her assured, "Enter," before he slowly pushed it open.

She wasn't sleeping. She was already dressed and hard at work, or maybe she'd never slept, and had sat there all night.

"Morning," he said, coughing politely and waiting for her to look up.

Rather unhappily, her eyes scoured him like he didn't belong there. She shook her head, impatiently waving her hand in a circling motion to tell him to hurry up and state his business.

"I can come back later," he offered.

It appeared that she was about to ask who he was, and then she abruptly realized and shook her head. "Navigator?" she asked, looking less severe than usual.

"No…I mean yes. _Weller_ is my name, Captain," he reminded. "Shall I return later?"

"No need to leave. Come in. I just…" she tilted her head, her eyes wide as she searched his face for parts familiar enough to confirm his identity. "Just come in."

He stood there awkwardly, feeling her gaze upon him but uncertain what she was thinking. Her entire demeanor was one of reserved surprise, like he'd taken her off guard. She cleared her throat and went to a drawer, pulling out other garments.

"We're going ashore," she told him. "You'll pose as my assistant, my right hand."

"What does that entail, Captain?"

"You'll keep guard when I'm otherwise occupied. If I need assistance, you'll provide it. And anything else I may order you to do. You won't ever question my orders, especially in front of onlookers. When we return, you won't speak to anyone of the things you've seen or heard."

"Understood."

"We're a successful enterprise," she explained. "When my crew go to port, they have plenty of money for drink, food, women…whatever they want. We have decent garments and not a half bad life, for pirates. Put these clothes on," she ordered, handing him nicer black breeches that were better fitted. She looked away politely, and he quickly put them on. "Today, you're a pirate. And you won't let on any different. You're strong. You have no fear. And you never, ever relent."

"Yes, Captain."

She handed him a new shirt, the usual style, but the color of the fabric was a deep blue. This color was also one seldom seen on anyone he'd met, so that he, like the Captain, was waving a flag to pronounce his disregard for the niceties of polite society and flaunting their success.

She gave him new boots as well, tall and black, without the holes that his own shoes had in the soles.

Once he was dressed, he stood tall and asked, "Like this?"

She studied him, finding a thick leather belt for his use and watching while he tightened it. She shook her head and approached, loosening and adjusting it, saying, "You've a lot to learn."

"About my belt?"

She lowered the belt so his pistol was closer to his hand and easier to grasp. He was shocked when she actually handed him one. He looked at the firearm, and she said, "It's loaded and ready, but you get one shot. That's all I'll give you for the time being."

He wondered again why she seemed so unconcerned that he might turn on her, or maybe she didn't care all that much for her life. She fetched a cutlass, a dagger, and a cloth bag. She was so close that he could smell her, somehow sweet like honeysuckle and spicy like an exotic herb, far more pleasant than most of the crew. As unfazed by his closeness as she seemed to be, he was inversely affected, noting his more rapid heartbeat and breath and the general numbness of his tongue when he attempted to speak.

She reached to his side, hooking the dagger onto the belt and then guiding his hand to it. "You should know where your weapons are without looking so you can draw them quickly," she ordered before also attaching the small bag that sounded like it contained a few coins.

"Yes ma'am," he responded, hoping she couldn't actually hear him swallow.

He stiffened his jaw and again reminded himself of his hatred for her. He thought, fleetingly, that true hatred needed few reminders. But he was doing this for the prisoners, to bring them food and maybe better circumstances.

"Can you handle a blade?" she asked as she offered him a cutlass.

"Of course," he answered, nodding before taking it and immediately blocking when she produced one for herself. In less than a few seconds, she'd flicked her wrist and his own cutlass fell to the ground. He had been a serviceable swordsman on his old ship, not the best, but certainly not the worst.

She winced. "That will need some practice. Don't draw your sword unless you've no other options."

He agreed, his eyes glued to her as she retrieved her thick jacket and hoisted it onto her shoulders. It was so heavy that it almost seemed to weigh her down a bit. As she adjusted her belt, her shirt opened only a little, giving him the briefest glance of the top of one breast. He wished the image didn't ricochet through him the way it did, after all, more cleavage was usually on display on any woman wearing a typical dress. On her, the ribbon of flesh was an almost shocking revelation of the woman beneath the stoic captain.

When she spoke to him, he looked away quickly, doing a horrid job of acting at ease.

She strutted over, and when she was near, she asked, "Do I frighten you?"

"I'm not afraid to die," he honestly answered.

"I know. That played some part in the reason why I chose you to accompany me. But that also wasn't my question."

She was calm, unmoving, but since she'd suddenly sprung from her chair and taken him down before, he wasn't sure how to predict when she may jump into action. He wondered if Briggs' daughter ever saw Doe's blade coming before she'd fallen.

But she seemed to learn all she needed to know just by looking at him. Subtly pursing her lips for a moment, she bobbed her head, and said, "Let's get to it, Weller."

He traveled in a small rowboat with her, the two sailing alone and catching up with other boats that were headed to shore. When they reached land, she gave Perry his orders, and seemed very certain that they'd find something of great worth that day. She and Weller alone walked away from the pack.

The hike wasn't a short one, through a jungle-like environment with thick undergrowth and a heavy umbrella of trees. She seemed to know exactly where they were going. As was often the case, no conversation was shared, save warnings about treacherous spots on the path. They followed a swiftly rushing stream several miles deep into the jungle until they came upon a clearing, as if the jungle had opened and revealed a village. There was a large, simple garden, and primitive traps around the periphery. Beyond the garden, there were a few stick buildings with thatched roofs. Children played nearby, adults doing chores as fires smoldered in different pits for different purposes.

Most people were terrified of Jane Doe, Weller understood that clearly, but an aged woman sitting outside of one of the larger huts greeted her with great enthusiasm. Captain Doe responded with a look that was not entirely threatening, and suddenly the fearsome pirate was a person. It was the first glimpse of true humanity he'd seen from her.

Doe slipped into the woman's native language, the two chattering away more quickly than Kurt could even try to keep up with, and he didn't comprehend a single word. After some catching up, the old woman ogled Kurt, her eyes drinking him in. She beamed at him, her mouth offering a nearly toothless grin as she nodded and said something to the Captain.

Doe replied in an agreeable tone, nodding as she glanced for a second at Kurt.

The old woman made a request, standing with great difficulty due to her advanced age, and Kurt took her elbow to help her up. Her wrinkles crinkled even more deeply from the breadth of her smile. She leaned her cheek against him and wrapped an arm around his waist, and he suddenly had the impression that she was asking to keep him, like an ordinary person would ask to keep a pet.

Captain Doe pondered whatever the offer was, her expression displaying careful consideration of the answer. Finally, after thought, she shook her head and the old woman was crestfallen. She flopped down again on her mat, pouting, shooting a disapproving look at someone most other people cowered before. Then Doe leaned down and whispered something to her, sweetly, explaining in what sounded like exquisite detail the reason why she'd come to her decision. He saw Doe flash three fingers as she spoke, and the old lady adamantly bobbed her head as if she understood. For a moment, he wondered if the Captain was going to sell him, and they were negotiating the price.

"What's going on?" Weller asked once the Captain stood.

The old woman spoke, and Doe translated, "She wants you to know that she has had four husbands, and outlived them all…"

"Impressive," Kurt replied, smiling nervously at her.

"But they all died happy men," Doe continued to translate, actually chuckling for a second. "And she's sorry she won't have the chance to…" she paused and asked the old woman something in her native language to confirm before she continued, "she's sorry she won't have a chance to offer you the benefit of her years of experience."

"Thank her for the offer," Kurt said politely.

"I apologized for depriving her," Doe explained, "but she understands that you belong to me. I'm not fond of sharing my acquisitions."

Captain Doe leaned down and whispered to the old woman, transferring something that glinted in the sun into her palm. The old lady nodded, her other hand moving to the Captain's face and patting it affectionately as she said something thick with appreciation.

Doe stood and looked at Weller. "Wait here," she ordered. "Make sure no one enters this hut."

He answered immediately, "Yes, Captain."

She disappeared inside, and he found himself under the weathered but flirty gaze of the old woman. She pointed at a woven mat across from her, and gestured for him to sit. He declined, but stood in front of the door, crossing his arms and surveying the area around the hut. He kept a watchful eye out for anyone who might approach. He knew this might be a test, and as much as he disliked Captain Doe and the pirates, being in her good favor would probably be for the best.

The old woman swiveled to face him, taking out a small cup carved of wood and gesturing for him to touch it. He did for a moment, and then she pulled it back, chanted softly, and dropped the contents onto the ground. Inspecting the chunks of stone and possibly bone with great scrutiny, she pointed one curved, unsteady finger and began to explain what she'd found. She spoke at great length and with an air of importance as if he understood what she was saying. He looked around for someone to translate, but found no one.

Only a few minutes after entering, Jane Doe, face dour, fist clenching a frayed cloth bag, emerged and walked away from the hut. The old woman excitedly began chattering, and Doe slowly turned back toward her and returned, interest piqued at whatever the woman had said. Doe stooped down and looked at the runes, the woman explaining her findings with a certainty seldom matched. They spoke over the objects, exchanging rapid fire questions and answers until Doe was satisfied. The Captain glanced at Kurt and nodded, putting her hand on the old woman's shoulder before palming another gift to her. He could see that she'd given coins, and the woman was surprised by the amount of the offering.

As Doe stood and turned, any amount of humanity disappeared into her icy pirate stare, and she marched away from the hut, muttering, "You going to stand there all day?" as she shoved past him.

* * *

They made the long trip back, Kurt's mind vibrant with questions he knew he had no right to ask and she had no obligation to answer.

Once they were close to the shore where her crew and prisoners searched for treasure, she grasped his arm to stop his progress and said, firmly, "I have a proposition for you."

Her jaw was resolute and her glare severe. This wasn't a casual conversation like the one she'd had with the old woman. This was business, pure and simple. He leaned forward, his easy expression encouraging her to continue.

"Would you like to earn your freedom?" she questioned.

"Yes, Captain. Of course. But at what price?"

"I need an associate and a pair of eyes to watch my back when I conduct business. Like today, but often more perilous. I'm searching for something, and I need someone from outside of my crew who can assist me, confidentially."

"You trust no member of the crew?" he wondered, thinking that she'd once killed Briggs' daughter, so perhaps she had some nefarious plan that would lead to the deaths of all of those in her command.

"Many of them hold their allegiance to Briggs first and foremost. Others dislike taking commands from a woman. You have no allegiance to Briggs, and don't seem to object to taking orders from a woman. I prefer to recruit someone from the outside."

"And you trust me to be that man?"

"Trust isn't necessary. We would mutually benefit from this arrangement, and I have confidence you can do what's best for your future. I have something to offer you that you may find worthy of your efforts. If you help me find what I seek, I will give you half of the sizable cache of gold and silver that I've amassed, and your freedom. My crew could offer you a place on the ship or your freedom if they mutiny, but they can't offer you the kind of wealth that I can."

"And if we don't find what you're looking for?"

"We must."

"But if we don't? What happens to me?"

With a mask of disappointment, she considered the question. "If after three years' time we do not accomplish this goal, I will offer you one-quarter of what's owed you, and your freedom."

"You'll let me walk away a free man?"

"With enough in your pockets to begin a new life."

"How do I know you'll make good on your word?"

"I will," she answered, as if that was all of the reassurance he'd need. Since he didn't answer immediately, she added, "Or you could go back to the hold and remain my prisoner indefinitely."

"Two years. I'll give you two years."

"Three," she countered again. This treasure must have held great meaning for her. Finally, she carefully added, "Three, and equal food rations for all of the prisoners, same as crew."

"Agreed."

Her hand shot forward and he accepted, each grabbing onto the other's forearm and firmly sealing the deal.

"One more question," he said before they returned to the shore and the rest of the crew.

"If you must," she sighed.

"The old woman—"

"Veya," Doe interjected with the woman's name.

"Yes. She told my fortune?"

"Of sorts." The Captain crossed her arms, clearly displeased with the direction of the conversation.

"What did she say? Why were you interested in my future?"

The Captain glared, and then whoops and hollers came from the beach. She turned, seeing the crew and prisoners lifting boxes of treasure from the sand. She looked more relieved than anything.

"Is this the treasure you were looking for?" he questioned, his focus shifting from the shore to the Captain and back.

"No, but it ought to quell threats of mutiny for a while," she victoriously stated, sharing a true smile with him for the first time. "Let's go assess our take."

" _Our_ take?" he questioned, wondering if he was no longer truly being considered a prisoner and would receive some portion of the find.

She took off toward the beach, leaving him behind. He looked around, realizing that no one was guarding him. For a moment he considered fleeing. He wasn't even sure if he was worth the trouble to hunt down, so maybe they'd let him go without chase. Still, he wasn't sure what island they were on, or how the inhabitants would take to him without the Captain by his side. He weighed his options, and for a moment faced the center of the island.

He took a long, slow breath, and looked at the celebration on the beach. He watched as the crew toasted their Captain and their success. She appeared to be pleased, but beneath it all, even her smile was somehow sad. He found his steps carrying him back to her without any further thought of escape.

He'd begun his life at sea for adventure and fortune, and few things better encapsulated both than a secret treasure hunt with an infamous pirate. If this large find on the shores wasn't the real treasure she sought, he could only imagine the vast riches that awaited them. And Jane Doe, _whom he still definitely hated_ , he reminded himself, was too fascinating an enigma to walk away from too soon.

Joining the others, he began to haul the treasure back to the ship.


	3. Chapter 3: The Chink in the Armor

**A/N-I'm so thrilled with the largely positive response (and to those who dislike, thanks for withholding the flames). I'm going to try to post 2 chapters before Christmas, but should at least get one up. Again, thanks to all for reading. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Chink in the Armor  
**

It took hours to move all of the treasure on board, and the mood among the crew was high-spirited. That night, after helping the crew to haul it all onto the ship, Captain Doe ordered Kurt, "Take yourself and the other prisoners down to the hold."

"A few minutes of rest on deck for the prisoners first, as we discussed. Please?" Kurt asked.

She turned, her stare stabbing into him like a storm of crashing icicles. "You don't ever want to make me repeat myself," she replied.

The timber of her voice was low and terrifying, so he took the other prisoners down below deck, and they all crouched down in the cramped and smelly hold. He waited in the darkness, his rage toward her boiling in his gut as it grew. Why had he even returned to this ship? Doe was the worst kind of monster, a vile and heartless creature who would say one thing and do another. The prisoners worked just as hard or harder to reveal the treasure, didn't they deserve a few moments in the cool evening breeze, or at least their usual dinner? In moments, they would hear the crew on deck, celebrating their victory, enjoying what luxuries they had, and planning how to use their shares. But the prisoners below would probably be forgotten, without even a stony piece of hardtack and a palm full of warm ale.

But he didn't hear a celebration. He heard orderly stomping, organized voices, and what sounded like the chorused votes they'd held on occasion on the _The Brianna._ He heard the spirited shouts of _aye_ or _nay_ , but had no clue what was being decided. With a contemptible fiend like Jane Doe, maybe they were voting on whether to kill the prisoners so word of the treasure never spread.

Weller's jaw clenched so tightly it ached, his eyes narrowed in furious slits as he stared into the blackness, dreaming of having one more opportunity to take down the Captain. Why had she offered him the proposition…had she decided he wasn't worth the trouble now that her wealth had increased so swiftly? Perhaps the other treasure she sought was unimportant when considered in the light of her newly acquired riches.

The celebration didn't begin after several minutes, perhaps an ominous portend, and Kurt wished he could get one last note to Sarah.

Perry opened the hatch and came down, shackling all of the prisoners in a gang before taking them up to join the crew. When they were all kneeling on the center deck, the pirates loomed around them on all sides, looking down upon them. This was exactly what Kurt had imagined he'd see if he were about to be killed by a band of pirates.

Captain Doe alone stood on the same level as the prisoners. "One hell of a victory today, far greater a haul than we'd expected," she shouted.

The crew erupted in cries of support, all rallying around her. "You led us to it," one pirate shouted.

"To Captain Jane Doe!" another screamed, and Weller watched as all of the crew repeated her name and lauded their captain without exception.

"We had the assistance of eight prisoners today who were critical in the unearthing and securing of this treasure. These prisoners pulled more than their weight, and did so with the belief that they would not reap any of the rewards." She paused, standing with the utmost confidence and authority, and addressed the prisoners directly. "Tonight, this crew took a vote…they decided you all will be given a choice. You've each proven yourselves worthy. Those who wish to will be offered half-shares of our haul today, and the opportunity to join our crew."

"And if we don't want to join?" Kurt asked, boldly, fully expecting retaliation.

"Throw 'em over!" one pirate screamed, the group laughing raucously.

"Ordinarily the choice is join or die," she explained without looking at Kurt. "But today has put me in a good mood. Anyone who wishes can get a ride to the island. From there, we'll have nothing more to do with you. You're on your own. Mr. Perry?"

"Aye?" Perry replied.

"Escort any such coward to the island. But those who choose to stay will share in the celebration. Food, drink…you've earned it, and there are rough seas ahead, so enjoy this victory. Our new brothers can find an open hammock in the main crew quarters, you're one of us now. Tomorrow we'll divide our take and make our way to land for a few days of much needed relief and replenishment before we choose our next course. After that, as full members of the crew, you'll be entitled to full shares and a vote when one is called. Anyone who doesn't wish to stay…talk to Mr. Perry, and get the hell off my ship before I change my mind."

Signaling to Perry and one other crew member who looked like a cook, Captain Doe showed everyone the treasure in a separate locked hold. All present verified it was there, and watched while Doe and the two other members of the crew each put a lock in place and took their separate key. No one could open the locker without all three keys.

As soon as it was secured, the ship erupted in celebration. The prisoners were all unshackled and left to make their decisions. Barrels of rum and ale rolled out on deck and were promptly opened. The cook had prepared a feast of freshly gathered foods from the island, and the prisoners all absorbed the shock of their change in fortune. Four of them elected to leave, and they quickly scrambled to get off the boat before their good luck ran out.

Kurt found a spot of railing that was free, and he lay down on his back, and watched the stars began to dot the sky when the sun set. He'd missed this. The rum was sweet and heady. The food was savory and filling. But there were no words to describe the feeling of freedom. He wasn't entirely free, he knew. He still was a member of the crew and owed Doe three years according to their agreement, if he was true to his word. Of course he would be. Fresh air, a sky full of stars, and the sound of the waves lapping at the sides of the boat were freedom enough for him at that moment.

A pirate celebration was a wild one, far more riotous than any on _The Brianna_ had been. Many of the crew passed out from intoxication not long after they began. As angry as he'd been at the Captain momentarily, he realized that even if she didn't _support_ the vote to free the prisoners, she didn't _prevent_ it either, nor did she seem to expect gratitude from anyone for it.

Weitz stumbled by, and Kurt said, "Hey. What happened when we went below deck?"

"A vote!" Weitz replied, hiccupping, doing nothing to hide his drunkenness.

"Who called for the vote?"

"The Captain, of course."

"She _personally_ made the motion to free us?"

"We have plenty of people who _want_ to join us. This is one of the most profitable commands to serve under. Why keep prisoners? They're too much work—" Weitz began, swept up by other revelers before he disappeared into the small crowd.

Kurt looked for the Captain, feeling almost like he should apologize for the things he'd thought even though he hadn't voiced them. For a few moments there, his rage for her had gotten red hot, but now that the truth had come out, she was nowhere to be found. He walked past her cabin, seeing the flickering lanterns through the smoky glass windows. He tapped on the door once, and then two and three times more, but she never responded.

Weitz found Kurt and pulled him back to the party. It wasn't long before the rum had silenced most of the members of the crew, and Kurt found himself once again staring at the stars.

* * *

Kurt heard the punctuated tap of the heels of boots as they stomped across the deck. He stood, lungs full of clean air and the best night of sleep he'd had in ages. Had he not known better, he would have assumed the entire crew was wiped out by a vicious foe, bodies strewn in unconscious heaps, some groaning as they woke from the long night.

Perry saw Kurt, lip snarling as he gloated, "Captain has a night of celebration but leaves you out here? Looks like she's done with you already."

"I just wanted him well rested," Doe's voice came from behind them.

Kurt turned and she said, "Get yourself to my cabin."

He heard her giving Perry his orders before she followed him and locked the door.

"You didn't celebrate with the crew?" Kurt asked, his head reminding him that he, too, celebrated a bit too much the night before.

"Attending a drunken party as the sole female is not nearly as much fun as it sounds," she dryly said.

"Didn't think of it like that."

"Let me give you some free advice," she added, her eyes meeting his. "When there's a great deal of drink and a lot of lonely souls…it's not too wise for anyone to be unconscious on deck. Female…or male."

He laughed, then realized she was not joking. "Oh," he mumbled.

Changing the subject, she added, "Hate to ruin your fun, but Perry isn't the only one who will be suspicious if you sleep out there with the crew. Most nights, now that you'll no longer return to the hold as a prisoner, should be spent in here."

After a long nod, he asked, "So we're going to continue the ruse?"

"I'm sure you'd rather be out with the rest of the crew. But, with a little luck, I'll find what I'm looking for and you'll be free soon enough."

In truth, he didn't prefer the idea of being out with the crew. Parties were fine, but the wild pirate life wasn't really his style. He preferred plotting and maps, and maybe the secrets of the Captain's treasure, should she finally decide to trust him fully. He glanced around the cabin, considering the logistics and wondering if he'd be sleeping on the floor or if she'd share her bed. He decided it was best not to broach the subject, but rather wait until nightfall. The sense of rising excitement he found irritated him, because he'd truly never known a woman that he longed to destroy one moment and wanted to bed the next. His attraction for her was infuriating, but present nonetheless, and dammit, the thought of sharing her bed sounded quite inviting, even though he thought it more likely that he'd be on the floor.

He'd been so caught up with his thoughts that he didn't realize she'd been expecting a reply. She sighed and shook her head, and he was pretty certain she found him very irritating. She added, "I realize we didn't discuss this when we came to our arrangement, but—"

"No, Captain, it's just fine. I've no objections," he replied without pause.

"Very well," she mumbled, a bit warily.

"Now that I'm a member of your crew as well as the man posing as your lover—"

"We're not lovers. We fuck, or rather, we pretend to. You keep me company, nothing more," she corrected. "Romantic notions, real or perceived, imply weakness."

"Fine," he conceded, a bit irritated at the need for splitting hairs. "In my position, as it is, do I have the right to discuss some of these plans with you? Perhaps ask some questions?"

She groaned. "You will be privy to information others will not by virtue of the things you'll see and hear. But don't expect me to tell you everything."

"But I may speak freely?"

"Within reason," she allowed. "And only when we're alone."

"I wanted to thank you for calling the vote to release us."

"It wasn't a personal decision."

"Either way," he replied, not really realizing that his fingers were tracing the map over Jamaica, the place where his sister was, at least last he'd heard.

Staring at him, she asked, "You've a wife? Children?"

"Oh," he shook his head, "No. No ma'am."

She smiled, a little deviously, "There's something you value in Jamaica."

He thought about telling her, but wondered if she'd ever use Sarah as leverage over him. "It's nothing."

With overt doubt, she leaned back in her chair, her fingers twirling the key that hung from a chain around her neck. "You have my word that who or whatever it is there that you value…is safe from me. Not only will I not harm it or them, but I also won't divulge your secret to anyone else."

He wasn't sure why she was suddenly so interested, and knew he should have doubted her, but answered, "My sister. And, I believe, a niece or nephew by now. She was expecting a child when last I heard from her, but after Briggs attacked…"

His voice fell away. Sometimes it was easy to forget the life he'd left behind, like Sarah and Pellington and his work on the docks was all a story he'd heard ages ago.

"If we have business in Port Royal, I'll try to allow you some time to look in on her."

"That's kind of you, Captain."

"Well, this arrangement of ours will be inconvenient for you at times. We're headed for Tortuga. For appearances sake, you can't find female companionship while we're docked. I'm sure that's a disappointment, but it would be an affront to me, an insult in front of my men for you to do something so blatant. If I allow you to disrespect me—"

"Say no more," he replied before even really thinking about it. "The sacrifice will be worth it when I receive my share of your wealth."

"That it will," she agreed as her eyes glinted.

* * *

They set sail for Tortuga, and for the next few nights he slept on the floor. He wasn't quite certain if she slept, as she was awake every night when he went to sleep and every morning when he rose. He wondered if some of the rumors that she was a witch or a spirit or the victim of some terrible curse were true.

He'd been to Tortuga before as part of Pellington's crew, but it was different with this crew. Moments after they arrived, the men scattered, many in search of prostitutes, opium, or one of the many vices found there. He and Captain Doe went to a tavern together, one a little farther from the port that locals and pirates who wanted their affairs kept quiet visited.

Doe ordered them both drinks as they sat at the bar.

"Jane Doe. What the hell are you doing here?" a feisty voice said from across the bar.

He'd expected a few challenges here, but the Captain smiled at the woman who quickly rounded the bar and wrapped a friendly arm around her. This woman was dressed much like a pirate, not all that differently from Doe, although her beautiful tanned skin and whisper of an accent made it seem that she probably came from one of these islands before she'd taken up this life.

"Zapata," Doe replied, a long history apparent between them.

"So good to see you again," Zapata replied. "It's been too long."

"It has."

Zapata grabbed Jane's arm and said, "Tell me you found her? You did, didn't you?"

Doe glanced at Kurt and pulled Zapata to the side, signaling for him to wait at the bar. The women talked for some time, and he slowly nursed his drink. As he sat there, he heard the men next to him, many whispering the lewdest things as they stared at Doe. The Captain was beautiful and enticing, but these men were more interested in subjugation than a mutually enjoyable good time, and he found himself getting irritated at the discussion.

He tried to let it go, after all, tavern talk was seldom polite. Zapata and the Captain returned and sat with Weller, the two mostly chatting between themselves as he listened on. He watched Captain Doe, and the way she seemed both acutely aware of the conversations going on around her while paying attention to her friend. In fact, the only thing she didn't seem to be carefully watching was him. Oddly enough, it made him feel a sense of pride and confusion, that someone so fierce and vigilant trusted him at her back.

Snippets of the nearby conversation caught his ear, and he heard some of the men plotting their abuses. "I'll grab her," the one said, "and we'll drag her out to the fields before we have our fun."

"And we'll draw straws for who gets to have her first," another one added, the whole group laughing.

The next moment, one of the men came up behind Doe, knife in hand moving steadily toward the Captain's throat. When another thug saw Weller eyeing the situation, he said, "Don't worry, mate, we'll give you a turn at her."

Weller slowly nodded his head before he stood, quickly snatching the wrist of the man behind the Captain and twisting until the knife fell to the floor. "What's that, _friend_?" Kurt snarled, looking back at the one who'd spoken to him.

"Easy," the nasty brute Kurt had subdued replied.

"Do you have any idea who you're fucking with?" Kurt asked.

"I have no quarrel with you."

"But it's not me you should be afraid of."

Kurt saw Doe slowly turn on her stool, lazily taking another sip of her drink before she put it down, like this scenario wasn't enough to trouble or worry her. Doe stretched her fingers, and some of the men who'd been planning the attack saw her tattoo, and realized exactly who they'd been plotting against. Most of them ran as soon as their legs could move, leaving the one Weller now had by the throat, and one that stood nearby.

"A shame they had to go so soon," Zapata said to Doe.

"Too bad," she agreed. "I thought we were going to have some fun."

"We are," Weller whispered menacingly. Taking the knife the man had dropped, he asked, "Captain, you want his balls for you collection?"

Clearly amused, she chuckled, taking another drink when Zapata refilled her cup. "Probably too small to properly display."

The brute whimpered, trying to twist out from Kurt's fists. Zapata gestured at Kurt and asked Doe, "Where in the hell did you find him?"

"In the hold," Doe responded.

"Tell your friends," Weller growled, "that Captain Doe and her associates aren't to be trifled with."

"I didn't know who she was. I swear," the brute pleaded.

"Her friend, too," Kurt added. "If anything happens to her, we'll be back, and we'll add your _marbles_ to the Captain's collection."

Kurt dropped the man, keeping the knife, and watching him and his friend scramble off into the night.

"Are you sure you weren't a pirate?" Doe asked, a compliment if she'd ever given one.

He only smiled, and Zapata replied, "You have got to keep this one."

"I intend to," Doe answered, "for three years or until this job is done."

Zapata toasted the pair and said, "I cannot wait until that story has a chance to grow. Another tale added to the legend of Jane Doe."

"Pirates are fantastic gossips, and prone to embellishment with each retelling," Doe chuckled.

Soberly, Zapata asked, "When you find her, you'll come back and take me with you? I can't stay here."

"I told you I would," Doe replied. "You have my word."

* * *

After they parted, Kurt and his Captain walked back to the ship.

"You impressed me back there," she confessed. "And I'm seldom impressed."

Trying to capitalize on her positive attitude, he asked, "It's a ship, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"The treasure you're looking for. Your companion said 'when you find _her_ '? You said once before 'not all treasures come in chests'…so I've concluded it's a ship you've been hunting for."

"Interesting conclusion," she replied as they strolled.

"I'm right, aren't I? Your secret is safe with me," he promised.

"Good to know."

"But why?" he pushed. "You already captain a ship. What makes this one so special?"

"I do captain a ship," she agreed, "but it's part of Briggs' fleet. All under her rather long shadow."

"So this ship you seek…it was yours and it was taken, or perhaps lost? Why don't you have it today?"

She paused, looking at the horizon where the ship she commanded floated peacefully on a moon sparkled sea. She commented, hesitantly, "I do believe that you can be trusted, and I'm seldom wrong about such things. However, if I happen to be wrong this time, and you cross me, I'll cut you into pieces, and I'll enjoy every moment of it."

He watched her eyes, the sincerity of her look, and the practiced threat of her words, but he couldn't help but wonder how much of it was for show and reputation. He didn't doubt that she was to be feared, but he also swore he saw something more behind the persona. "The specific punishment for such a crime doesn't concern me…because I'll do nothing to deserve it."

Appreciating his answer, but still skeptical, she replied, "Since you'll be the only person on board besides me to know the truth, I'll know who betrayed me if news of this gets out."

"Understood."

Scanning the area one last time for onlookers, she whispered, "I'm not in search of a ship, gold or silver, or any buried treasure. I'm looking for something very different. My daughter."

He shook his head, confused and stunned, "Your _daughter_?"

"Yes. She was taken from me, ripped from my arms during the one moment in my life when I was too weak to fight back. I need to find her."

He stepped back, stumbling slightly with confusion. Of all of the things a terrifying, legendary pirate may search for, this was the last thing he'd suspected.

"I know that isn't what you were expecting, and I swear to you that I have a sizable fortune hidden away. The payment I will give you for your services will not disappoint you. I did not deceive you about that."

"Why hide such a thing?"

"If people knew I want to find her, it would put her at risk. They may hurt her simply to hurt me," she admitted. "And…I've worked long and hard for this reputation. I can't be seen as soft or weak or I become vulnerable in their eyes."

Even after her confession, he still didn't see her as soft or weak in the least, although perhaps a bit more human.

"Who took her from you?" he asked.

"A story for another day. But I feel certain that if Briggs hears that I'm searching for her, the child will be in incredible danger. So the entire matter must be treated with the utmost caution and secrecy."

"So you search while you pretend to be occupied with me?"

"I know Briggs has spies in my crew. I need someone I can trust to keep my secret and help me find her."

"You can rely on me," he whispered his promise.

She nodded stiffly only once, the conversation closed.

He followed her back to the ship, noting the extra chilliness she cast in his direction. He knew the dangers her confession had presented, and the amount of trust it suggested she had in him. The Captain was far more complicated than she seemed.


	4. Chapter 4: Goodbyes and Hellos

A/N-I wanted to get this posted now because the next few days will be crazy. Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrate, and thanks for your support!

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Goodbyes and Hellos**

In the next few weeks, Captain Doe shared much of her research regarding the whereabouts of her daughter with Kurt. There was a lot of time to kill since travel from one place to the next on a ship took days, the crew beholden to the favor of the winds. Every scrap of information she'd amassed was kept carefully under lock or hidden, many of the items in false bottomed boxes she'd acquired from the Far East. She'd collected letters and notes, and made a network of lookouts on many islands. She'd recruited people in various locales, many like the old woman who'd told his fortune. Often these people had substantial reasons for despising Captain Briggs, so Doe didn't worry they'd turn on her.

She was careful to remain cool and distant during these days, although she was never cruel to Kurt. At first, he thought this was to avoid the appearance of a more tender connection between them in front of crew, but as time passed, he began to suspect that she didn't want her life complicated by closeness with others.

She showed him a map that she used to track dates and places where her daughter had been seen, and a list of the names of witnesses who'd reported them. One evening, the Captain asked him to read one of the letters to her while she marked points on the map, and he was forced to confess the truth: he could not read. He knew numbers and some letters, and certain common words used on maps, but that was the extent of his literacy.

At first she didn't comment about this in any way, but the next time they made port, she purchased a reader typically used for the children of the wealthy, and told him that in addition to the fortune, she was going to give him a far greater reward: she would teach him to read.

Once he relented, she gave him a lesson each night, the pair hunched around a lantern. The first thoughts of Captain Doe as a tutor left him to imagine her wrath over incorrect answers, or threatening to remove fingers if he didn't make acceptable progress. Shockingly, as a teacher, she was remarkably patient.

Initially he wasn't fond of these lessons since he found them frustrating, but he made pretty quick progress, and soon began to look forward to it. When he questioned the usefulness of reading, she reminded him that since he was about to become a wealthy man, it was important that he could read and write letters without assistance, or even make contracts. The argument that was most convincing was less practical. "Words are useful for communication, but they're so much more. In these books there is an escape that takes you far from your own life, no matter how miserable it may be," she explained with unfettered honesty.

That night when she went to her bed, she began to read _Don Quixote_ to him. She didn't have many books on board, but thought he might enjoy that one.

He'd slept on the floor every night, but the second night she read to him, she invited him to sit next to her, and try to follow the words while she said them aloud. He looked forward to that every night thereafter. She'd sit close to him, his chin practically resting on her shoulder. And those words did take him somewhere else. Often he'd ask her to continue when she was ready to stop, and she'd close the book and simply reply, "Tomorrow."

Every night after they'd read, he'd return to the floor to sleep, but he'd stay right next to her bed, cutlass and pistol at the ready should he ever need to provide defense.

He accompanied her on every trip to meet with her contacts, and each time he served as her guardian, it made him more protective of her. Few people ever moved on him, but those that did quickly regretted it since she was protective of him as well. Any time she would come to his aid, she'd remind him that her assistance was only practical since she needed his help, but he suspected she'd developed at least a little fondness for him. She certainly didn't loathe him. As much as he did not want to admit it, he did not hate her.

He'd tried to hold onto his anger and resentment towards pirates to keep some distance between them, but he felt an ever growing appreciation for the Captain. He doubted she'd ever drop the defenses between them, but the thought of leaving her side when this arrangement came to its end wasn't the pleasant one he'd once looked forward to. Each time she quietly corrected him during a lesson or came to his defense when threatened, he could see the evidence of her concern for him.

Captain Doe could never allow the fortress around her to crack, not so long as she was captain of the ship and under constant scrutiny. Knowing the crew as he did, it was understandable, since they all seemed to hunt for signs of weakness. She was practiced and capable in the art of self-preservation, a talent he'd suspected was born of a powerful necessity.

* * *

Nearly three months after she'd begun to tutor him, they visited a small island he was unfamiliar with and met a contact. They'd been following a lead for her child, and it seemed that they were getting very close. In those days, he could practically feel the cautious optimism emanating from her as they grew nearer her target.

She met with her associate alone while he kept watch, but when she left the meeting to return to the ship, something troubled her.

"Was it bad news?" Kurt asked as they hurried back to the docks.

"No news at all," she replied. "But there was something else, something unsaid."

He took her elbow to stop her and asked, "Captain, we're close. I know we are."

"I hope," she answered, pulling her arm away and continuing the walk.

"What's troubling you?"

"Something isn't right," she insisted. "I could see it during the meeting. I can feel it," she said, her fingers clenching some thick, unseen malice in the air.

When they returned to the ship, her concerns didn't subside. Weitz was directly outside her cabin, looking suspiciously like he was up to something, although he smiled and sidestepped any questions, as he often did. Once they were inside the cabin, she paced and fretted as Weller looked on, uncertain how to help.

"I promise you, something isn't right," she explained. "Any time in my life when I've ignored or dismissed this sort of feeling, I've come to regret it."

They set sail shortly thereafter. The Captain was deep in thought for a few days, watching and monitoring every interaction she could see amongst the crew. He wondered if her concern was genius or paranoia.

That night, he sat down on her bed next to her when it was time to read. She picked up and opened the book, then quickly shut it. Looking into his eyes, she said, "I'm setting you free."

"I'm already free," he replied staunchly.

"I mean I am releasing you from all obligation to me. I'm going to deliver you to Port Royal. Find your sister. I'll give you the gold I have on board, and a map to where I have some hidden so I can make good on my promise to you."

"Why?" he asked, feeling hurt rather than excited at the prospect.

She shook her head and refused to answer. "I don't wish to read tonight. Get some sleep."

Lying down in her bed, she closed her eyes, but he sat on the edge near her and questioned, "Did I do something to offend you, Captain?"

She opened her eyes and shook her head. "You did nothing."

"Why won't you let me see this through with you? I gave my word, and we must be close. Let me take you to your child and see this journey to its end."

"I'm taking you to Port Royal, and leaving you behind. This isn't a negotiation."

"No," he answered, folding his arms.

"You cannot simply say 'no' to me," she replied, sitting up. "You are not my prisoner, but you are also not my peer."

"I have done everything you've requested. I swear to you upon my life that I did not betray you. I know you feel something is not right, but if I'm the only one who knows what we're doing, then your secret is safe. If you fear that I've become disloyal or in any way betrayed you—"

"I know you didn't betray me," she said, her voice raising. "You are the only one on this ship whom I've told, but there are other ways, contacts, enemies on land. If you truly want to help me, take the fortunes I give you, and find my daughter. She's safer without me. Take her with you, perhaps your sister can help you care for her, or you can make sure she's with someone who will look out for her. I will give you enough to ensure her care without any inconvenience to you."

"Why don't you want to find her anymore?" he asked, feeling a sense of utter devastation that she might give up on something she'd wanted so desperately.

"I do," she answered, squeezing her eyes shut, her expression one of pure agony.

"Then we will."

"I'll be dead," she confessed.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I know something is coming. I see it in the whispers of some of the crew, and in the face of my last ally. You remember Veya? The old woman who told your fortune shortly after you began to accompany me?"

"Yes."

"She told me you'd find my daughter. I'd thought she meant that you'd find her with me, but I don't think that's the case. Perhaps you were meant to find her alone. There's something in the air, Briggs knows or will know. If she senses any deviation from her plans, her wrath will be swift and it will be decisive."

"All the more reason I should remain and guard you as I've promised to do."

"You've been a good companion, loyal, and strong. There's no need for you to die with me. Making sure my daughter is cared for would be the greatest thing you could do for me."

She didn't read to him that night, nor did he wish to listen if she would have, so he retired to the floor. His loyalty to her couldn't be easily shut off, a bond had been forged between them as their secrets had been shared. Most of all, he wanted to see her reunited with her child, to see the veil of pain that she always wore finally lifted. The link between mother and daughter had never faltered in the face of separation, and since it was the one thing that seemed to matter to Captain Doe more than riches or success, he wanted to see her find that.

He pondered ways to sway her, to convince her that their mutual ends would be better met together, and he heard a sad chuckle.

"You can find something amusing in all of this?" he asked.

"Not really…in a way, perhaps."

"I'm afraid I don't."

He opened his eyes and saw her peering over the side of her bed, looking down on him. It was the most personal conversation they'd ever had. She lay on her side, head resting on her upstretched arm. "Not so long ago, you would have been happy to see me hanged."

"That's not true," he said, sitting up, his shoulder leaning on the base of her bed, close enough to hear her breath.

"You probably would have killed me yourself when you were first my prisoner, if given the opportunity," she said, appearing amused rather than offended or accusatory.

"I wasn't pleased with you. I'll concede that much."

"Soon you'll see, you'll be happy to be on your own, far from me, far from pirates. Free to do what you please with whomever you please."

"I suppose," he reluctantly replied.

"I'm sure it means little to you, but I do… regret that we must part ways."

"You do?" he asked, lifting his face to her.

Everything between them seemed suddenly heighted, the emotions and feelings, the attraction, the power of things that felt like they could have been but never would be. Had she been any other woman, he would have at the very least kissed her. Little else seemed to matter, the gold, the hatred he felt obligated to feel toward her, Briggs, or even the crew on the other side of the door.

"Of course. You were a good worker, strong, a skilled fighter, and, though I'm averse to admit, an excellent navigator."

He chuckled, "Thank you, Captain." In spite of the compliments, he felt annoyingly disappointed that all he had been was a hired hand. But that, in fact, was his place in all of this.

"And," she said, pausing until his eyes met hers, "you were a good companion."

"So were you," he mumbled back.

For one flash of a second, she smiled. This smile, true and sweet and sad, made him ache with a sense of loss he didn't understand. That sorrow was shattered into oblivion when she leaned across the scant distance between them. With the most tender of touches, her lips brushed his, the sweet taste of rum on her breath, and his heart thumped like it lacked the needed capacity.

She pulled away after just that brushing of lips, and he found his hand reaching for her face, the backs of his bent fingers brushing her skin before he softly cupped her cheek. He wanted to hang onto her, to pull her close and into an embrace, but he knew better than to challenge her like that.

Their eyes lingered, brains wondering and choosing, and then the armistice collapsed. Her fingers curled around the back of his neck, and she captured his mouth, stealing his breath and his rationality. He wanted her so fully that even the possibility that he'd ever _not_ wanted her seemed unfathomable.

She deepened the kiss, taking control, like she did with almost anything. He'd wanted to touch her many times in recent days, hoping one day she'd pause from her reading and let their lips meet, or whisper, "Stay," before he'd left her bed.

It was wrong to desire this woman, a pirate, a criminal, once his captor, but he could think of no one he wanted more.

His hand reached up for her waist, surprised that she allowed it to meet her. The tidal wave of arousal only allowed one more passing thought. This wasn't the beginning of anything; this was a goodbye. The fact that she'd allow herself to surrender to this passion meant that she had no intention of ever laying eyes on him again. And that would have made him sad, if he could have felt anything else besides her and what was happening between them.

He pulled her down to the ground, her body coming to rest on his. Her hands firmly pushed his shoulders to the floor. His arms encircled her body, pressing her down onto him so he could feel the entirety of her weight on his body. His fingers swept the hair away from her neck before his lips moved there, and he groaned, completely involuntarily, "Captain."

She pushed herself away from his body, standing and shaking her head. Her hair was mussed, breath ragged, and her lips red enough to see by the scarce light in the cabin. "Good night, Kurt," she barely managed to rasp out before she retreated to her bed, her back to him.

He immediately regretted having spoken, wishing he'd busied his mouth in other ways than with speech. He wasn't sure if he'd reminded her of her responsibilities, or if his voice had made her realize her partner, but either way, she was gone. What had felt so right, exciting, and possible, was nothing.

As he stayed there, still as the dead, he heard her voice echoing in his mind, "Good night, Kurt," realizing it was the only time she'd addressed him by his given name. She knew it, certainly, from her attempts to teach him to write it, but she'd never so much as uttered it before.

His mind refused to quiet until he decided there was still time to persuade her. He probably had at least a few hours in the morning before they arrived at Port Royal. Perhaps he could convince her to have a change of heart and continue on together.

* * *

Before the first glimmer of dawn, they heard shouts of "Sails!" from on deck, and when they investigated, they saw two ships nearing theirs. In the space of sea between them and their attackers, there was one small rowboat with Weitz and a few other defectors. The moment Captain Doe saw them abandoning her ship, she went into action.

Doe shoved Weller away from the edge of the deck, clearly anticipating what was to happen next. And then chaos erupted. He heard the whistle of projectiles and the bone-chilling splintering of wood, and knew they were under attack.

The following moments were filled with a terror so different from when _The Brianna_ had been boarded. There was no way to tell where the next cannonball or bullet would hit, and he saw Perry's face white with shock as he felt for the place where his arm had once been. In the next moment, Weller saw flaming projectiles coming toward them, and knew the attackers were bent on complete destruction of the vessel and all of its occupants, wanting to reduce the ship to ash.

There was an explosion from beneath the deck, likely a powder keg had been struck or there had been some manner of sabotage. And then…there was nothing.

* * *

Kurt felt the oddest tickling along his ankle, something light but vaguely jagged. If those fucking gulls didn't stop screeching, he was going to find a pistol. He lifted his head and saw a dark blue land crab skittering across his leg. Moving his head had been a terrible mistake. His head and neck ached, his shoulders were stiff and sore, and he was glad he saw his legs because they hurt so much he wasn't sure if they were still fully attached. Those damn gulls would not relent, and it made it difficult to think through the discomfort.

He planted his palms in the sand and pushed himself to a sitting position, noting all limbs and even fingers were accounted for. He tried to wet his lips, but his mouth was dry, and he could taste the salt left behind by the seawater. Strangely enough, a split coconut was next to him, the water sitting in its natural bowl. He was so thirsty that he didn't much care about whether it was safe or where it had come from. He picked it up and quickly finished the contents, using his teeth to pull bits of the coconut flesh to eat.

He began to get his wits about him as the waves gently rolled in. Grateful that he wasn't left to bake under the beating sun, he saw lines in the sand where he'd been dragged from the shore's edge to the relative shelter of a grove of tall palm trees. He looked around, and didn't see other members of the crew, but surely someone had pulled him up and left him something to drink.

It was hard to see across the sand since the sun reflected off the bright white grains, but after some time, he saw some bits of debris along the shore. Farther out, it looked like a string of barrels was being lured in. He stood carefully, his legs wobbly and body uncooperative, but eager to figure out what was going on.

He made his way to the surf and saw a head bobbing in the water in front of the barrels, and realized a sailor was bringing these things to shore. Kurt ran out into the surf to help, using what strength he had to help haul the items in.

As he leaned his hands on his knees to catch his breath, he questioned, "Are you the man who dragged me to the shade?"

"In a manner of speaking," a female voice replied.

He shook his head and stared. She wore a flowing and tattered crimson shirt, soaked from the water, and wore pants without a dress. A tousled pile of drenched black hair covered her head, and she had beautiful greenish eyes. "I apologize, miss," he replied.

"Help me pull this stuff back from the water's edge," she ordered, and he was surprised at the authoritative tone, but she was right, so he assisted. "I need to swim back out a few more times to see what else I can find before the sea claims it."

"You were on board?" he asked. He didn't remember any females on _The Brianna_.

She scoffed and replied, "That isn't funny."

"Where's Captain Pellington?" he asked, feeling nervous, wondering if something terrible had happened to his mentor.

"Pellington is long gone," she replied, walking closer and searching his eyes for answers. He wondered why she looked so incredibly concerned. "You don't know me?"

"Should I?" he asked.

She turned away, brushing clumped sand from her hands.

"What happened to my Captain?" he pushed. "What happened to him?"

"Pellington?"

"Yes," Kurt said impatiently. "Who else would I be speaking about?"

"Pellington's ship was attacked. He's dead."

"Pirates?" he spat. "He was taken by pirates?"

"Yes," she confessed with unexpected reservation.

"I will hunt them all down, every last one," he said with rage.

"We don't have time to worry with that now. For today, we should be satisfied to secure our survival."

"Who are you? I don't remember seeing you on board _The Brianna._ "

She took a breath and said, "There are clearly things you don't remember, but this is not the time to discuss them. I need to see what else we can salvage before it's too late."

He stepped in front of her. "Who are you?" he insisted. There was something familiar about this woman.

"You truly don't remember me at all?"

He shook his head, searching his mind. "I'm sorry. I don't."

"I need to get out there," she insisted, grabbing yards of rope so she could haul multiple items in one trip.

"I can assist," he offered.

"You stay here on shore and move the things I've found away from the water so they won't wash away."

He watched her swim back out to sea with a strength few men seemed to have. He'd never been spoken to like that by a woman, or known any so comfortable barking orders at men. He carefully brought the debris and supplies to the spot where he'd woken beneath the trees, and realized as he hauled it how many trips she must have made through the water. Each outing, he went to meet her and bring the items in before she went back out in search of more.

Being stranded wasn't ideal, but the situation could have been far worse. Surely they'd have enough to survive here for a short while. This island was far from barren, and hopefully some of the supplies she'd brought in would be helpful. He had no doubt one of Pellington's associates would be out to search for them soon.

When she neared the shore, her exhaustion obvious, he charged into the water to help her finish. He took the rope from around her waist and tugged her out of the water. Assertively, he gave his own orders, "Enough."

"Excuse me?"

"Enough for today."

"Anything we don't recover now will be lost."

"None of that will matter to you if you're dead," he replied, hauling the supplies away from the ocean and toward the grove of trees.

When he gazed back to make sure she hadn't returned to the water, he saw her take a few steps before she turned and flopped down on the sand. He grabbed some of the coconuts she'd piled and cracked one open and took it to her. She quickly consumed the water.

"Come on," he insisted, leaning down and lifting her to her feet.

"I don't require your help."

"You did all this work on your own, let me reclaim some of my manhood instead of sitting around uselessly," he said, smiling at her and noting her curious observation of his expression. He took her to the shade of the trees where he'd woken earlier.

She appeared to be making mental notes of things that must be done, and seemed a consummate planner. He fetched another coconut and sat across from her.

"We need to find a safe place to shelter and build a fire," she commented. "Seems to be enough edibles around here, so food won't be a problem for the time being. Fresh water might be since there's only a little to drink in each coconut."

"We'll deal with that in time," he replied. "Now, shall I just call you 'miss,' or do you have a name?"

"Jane," she replied with a smile that looked out of practice.

"Miss Jane," he formally responded. My god, she was beautiful, far more beautiful than he had the words to describe.

"Jane is fine. No point in standing on ceremony when there's no one around to disapprove."

"Kurt," he replied, his fingers tapping his chest. "But you already knew that?"

"Yes," she replied awkwardly.

"You were on the ship?"

"I was," she answered. Then she added quickly, giving him the impression that she didn't want to discuss it further, "You must have hit your head. Let me take a look."

She stood and inspected his injuries, considering him with a sense of concern that made him wonder if they had been familiar. Surely he'd remember being close to a woman like this! He wanted to ask how friendly they were, but didn't want to seem too forward since she already appeared uncomfortable.

Kneeling in front of where he sat, she said, "I think you'll be alright. I don't envy you the headache you must have. But I need to find something to cook in and boil water so it's safe to drink, and we'll need shelter. The storms in this area can be harsh, so we need to be prepared."

He knew she expected him to comment on their needs for survival, but he reached out and took hold of the fingers of her one hand. Her eyes met him, and she seemed startled by his touch. "There's no need to fear me," he whispered gently, trying to give a reassuring smile to ease whatever was troubling her.

She forced a laugh. "I don't fear you in the least. I can take care of myself." But she looked uncomfortable anyway.

"I've no doubt of that. You're probably the strongest swimmer I've ever encountered. I wouldn't put it past you to swim back to the mainland without any ship at all. Thank you, Jane. Thank you for pulling me to safety. I have no doubt that without your intervention, I'd be at the bottom of the sea."

The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile that she promptly dispelled. "Of course," she replied dutifully, pulling her fingers away from his grasp. "We've work to do before dark."


	5. Chapter 5: Seconds

**A/N-Happy New Year, everyone! The holidays have kept me hopping, but here's the next chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Seconds**

Often the truth of one's feelings can best be revealed in split second decisions.

Jane had carefully avoided personal connections of any sort in these previous years, devoted to her one and only task: finding her daughter. Ironically, once she'd stopped searching for traditional fortunes, they'd found her. She'd amassed more riches in the previous couple of years than the entire rest of her life combined.

The decision to bring Weller in as an assistant and confidant had seemed a wise one. When she'd chosen him, he'd hated her. The only person he hated more than her was Briggs. She and Weller had each had things the other needed, she a treasure and he a hand to lend. It was leveraged and balanced, a simple arrangement designed to lead to mutual gain. He was the only trustworthy one on her ship.

She immediately acknowledged that kissing him had been a pretty lamentable mistake, but as she tried to pinpoint the exact moment when she'd made a wrong turn, it wasn't so clear. She'd made small concessions to her rules that kept people at a distance, and with each of those, he'd wormed his way closer. When she felt certain the end of her life was near, she'd tried to convince herself that his life didn't matter to her, but it did. So she'd tried to give him his freedom.

Telling him to leave had caused her a deep sadness that made the breadth of her miscalculations clear. Even as the specter of death had loomed over her, she'd wanted her last hours to be spent with him. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd dreamt of making him hers, kissing him, feeling his skin hotly against her body. And she thought she'd been so careful not to proceed down that steep hill.

The last night she thought they'd be together, she saw him lying on the floor of her cabin, hurt by her demand that they part ways, and it had become too much. In that moment, she did not worry about maintaining her heartless, cutthroat image. She'd wanted to comfort him, and herself, too, in truth. In that second, she'd kissed him. And he hadn't seemed revolted by her.

When she'd allowed him to pull her down the floor and she felt his body and its unreserved response, she thought the fight had already been lost. They could spend the next few hours in her bed, on her table, on the floor. She didn't care how or where, but she was going to have him. At least her last few hours would be well spent.

His mouth had felt like heaven on her neck, and she had already anticipated the things to come. Until he'd whispered, "Captain."

The sound of his voice calling for her was like music, no matter what name he'd called her by, and as each piece of the complicated puzzle fell into place, she realized she couldn't continue. It felt too good already, and if things went further, how would she say goodbye?

She lay in her bed, the pulse between her legs no longer pleasant but rather angry and demanding. Parts of her mind had screamed, "He's right there," so furiously that the temptation to roll right off her bed and back onto him was palpable. She couldn't allow herself to be so foolish, or give him any further motive to hold on to her.

The only comfort she'd clung to was that he would soon be gone, and they'd never cross paths again. She wouldn't have to face the ramifications of kissing him. He would go, and it would be hard, but it was the only way.

When they were attacked, however, one well-placed blast cracked the deck and sent her flying overboard in a huge pile of timber. She'd seen Weller, unconscious or maybe dead, she hadn't been able to tell. He was floating limply nearby, his body slowly sinking into the ocean.

She had heard orders called out to search for survivors, feeling the heat of her burning ship on her face, contrasting the cold water surrounding her body. A broken half-barrel floated by, and she'd had an idea. Pushing the barrel in front of her, she swam as quietly as possible over to Weller. She'd lifted the barrel over their heads, allowing it to float on the water's surface with them safely hidden beneath. They'd have enough air to breathe for a little while.

All she'd needed to do was keep his head above water, but it had proven more difficult than she'd anticipated. She hooked her arm under his, her legs kicking to keep them afloat. With her free hand, she pushed her palm against his chest and felt his heart still beating. She'd experienced a rush of relief that he was alive, suddenly not caring if she had to face the consequences of her recent foolishness.

He'd groaned with pain, and she looked at his face, tapping his cheek to try to rouse him.

"Weller? Come on, Weller, I could use some help here," she ordered, trying to sound demanding and harsh.

He'd tipped forward, his head coming to rest on her shoulder, and she'd felt him breathing against her neck.

She'd alternated her method of balancing him and staying afloat, using a leg or an arm to tether him to her while her other limbs fought to keep them afloat. He was big and unwieldy, and holding him against her did little to make her forget her near indiscretion. The worst part was the silence that followed the attack. Only the sounds of their breathing and the sloshing of waves against the barrel could be heard, offering her far too much time to think. So much of what she'd worked for was in flames, her quest to find her daughter had met yet another seemingly insurmountable obstacle.

The current had carried them in a consistent direction, and she had no idea if this was the desired course, but she couldn't risk looking out and being seen.

When she'd felt almost certain everyone had gone, she lifted the barrel up the tiniest bit and looked around. As soon as she was able, she'd moved the barrel from their heads, grateful to breathe some fresher air since the air in the bucket had been growing thin.

Although fortune had not smiled kindly upon her in so many ways as of late, they were lucky enough to be following the tides toward a nearby island, and it looked like some of the debris from her ship had washed up that way, too.

Jane was perfectly aware that she should have thought twice about bringing Weller with her. Had she known they wouldn't be parting ways, she most certainly wouldn't have kissed him the night before. By electing to keep him afloat and drag him to safety, she knew she would eventually have to answer for her actions. As much as she'd known she _should_ be mindful of those things, she never wavered on the choice to rescue him and bring him with her. There hadn't really been a _choice_ at all.

Her decision reminded her that she wasn't the unfeeling pirate leader Briggs had groomed her to be, but she surely didn't care what Briggs thought any more. Yet she couldn't help but wonder, if she hadn't completely become the merciless and brutal Captain Jane Doe, who was she?

When he woke and couldn't remember her, she should have been thrilled. She wouldn't have to deal with questions about their kiss, or why she had chosen to send him to Port Royal to save him from Briggs. But 'thrilled' did not accurately describe any of the emotions she'd felt. If anything, she noted a certain disadvantage, since he no longer knew her by reputation. Here, he wouldn't have to fear her or obey her. She'd become used to most of her interactions coming in the form of orders to her crew. She wasn't really even sure how to interact in any other way.

* * *

She was sorting through the scraps she'd saved from the ship, trying to erase the image of the soulless bodies of her crew that she'd seen. Had she not pushed Weller out of the way when those blasts had come, she didn't think he would have survived either. This wasn't the time to think about Perry, the man she'd long suspected of disloyalty, who'd actually gone down with the ship. Or Carlin, the cook, who'd made her so many meals with so little. Or Grudge, who'd fought every damn fight like it was his last. They'd been good men, all dead and lost in the water.

There was much work to be done, and that gave them a purpose, something to keep them busy. She found a curved piece of metal from the base of one of the masts, and decided that would be as good a cooking and boiling container as any. So far she'd also managed to gather a few blades and some cloth. There was a great deal of rope, and that would surely be useful, and a tinderbox, which would make fire-starting even easier. She found a few barrels of rum, but wasn't ready to crack those open yet. The only barrel of hardtack she'd found had been soaked and was unusable. One chest contained a few books and some paper. They were all wet, but she spread them out in the blazing sun on the sand in the hopes that they'd be usable.

A few days after they'd first arrived, she sent Kurt to find the driest wood and kindling he could for a fire as she sorted through the rest of the items they'd salvaged. He was already asking so many questions, and she wanted time to figure out what to tell him and when. She'd fended off most of his inquiries, but knew he wouldn't be patient much longer.

"Jane?" she heard Weller call out as he approached behind her.

She didn't tell him how rare it was for her to be called by that name. It was so informal and familiar, like any ordinary woman on an ordinary day.

"I think you'll be pleased," he added.

She turned and saw him with an armful of wood and a piece of rope slung over his back. "What did you find?" she asked.

"Plenty of wood to get a fire going."

"We'll need more to last the night."

"I also procured this," he said, extending his hand and displaying a large fish tied in the rope he'd had over his shoulder.

"How?"

"Not too far down that way, there's a dip in the island that fills during high tides and drains in low tides. He was swimming in the bit of water left at the lowest point, waiting for high tide to take him back to sea."

"That will be useful."

"I thought so. We may be able to create a few similar traps like that. Keep the creatures alive until we need them."

"You might not be entirely useless after all," she dryly replied.

"What an overwhelming vote of confidence," he chuckled.

She was already beginning to see glimpses of the man he'd been before his captivity.

"I'll repay my debt to you. Of that you can be certain," he insisted.

"What debt?"

"Saving my life."

"Right now, let's have something to eat," she deflected.

They had a good deal of wood that had been blasted from the ship before it had burned, and she had piled it to use when needed, but certainly not to use as firewood. "I see we have plenty of timber," he commented. "Are we going to create a shelter?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps with some of it."

"And with the rest?"

"You don't want to live here on this island forever, do you?" she asked. "At some point we may need to construct a boat."

"You wish to make a boat out of that?" he countered, nudging the pile with his foot.

"Something to use until I can find a proper ship. For now…I wish to eat. Are you going to build that fire today?"

He went to work on the fire. She was busily organizing provisions until she noticed the smell of something her stomach desperately wanted her to locate. After a few days of fruits and coconut, a more substantial meal was very enticing.

He'd built a fire with coconut husks, dead branches, and bits of dried up brush, and was already cooking the fish. Every time she stalled, he looked toward her with questions in his eyes, so she tried to appear busy.

He pulled the fish from the flame, poking it with his finger to make sure it was cooked well enough, and said, "You can take a moment's rest to eat, can't you? It's getting too dark to do much else anyway."

She brushed off her hands, grabbed a few coconuts for drink, and brought them over. She sat at a distance from him, and instead of insisting that she move, he came closer. He pulled off a few chunks of meat and handed them to her, and she accepted them hungrily. This meal wasn't heavily salted and dried like so much of the food she'd eaten in recent years on the ship, and was a very welcomed treat.

Her eyes drilled into the center of the fire, to the bits of coconut husks that burnt brightest right before they crumbled to nothingness. Just as she felt grateful that he hadn't spoken, he began to. "So how long have we known each other?"

Realizing that she was going to have to start answering some questions to avoid raising suspicions, she replied, "A few months."

"Why were you on Pellington's ship?"

"I wasn't. Pellington's ship was destroyed months ago, and you found a position on another vessel," she replied, not lying but omitting the fullness of the truth.

"Why were you on that ship?"

Deciding to get this particular confession out of the way, she replied, "I was traveling to be reunited with my daughter."

"Oh," he bobbed his head. "Was your _husband_ … lost in the recent battle?"

She smirked into the glow of the flames. Answering one question always led to many, many more.

"I don't have a husband, never have. I'm not like the polite ladies from Britain or the Colonies, so get that through your head," she stated certainly.

"Alright," he replied with a smile. "And…you and I…how were we associated?"

"We worked together." Thunder cracked sharply above. She didn't believe in god anymore, but she thought about praying her appreciation for the storm. "We need to take cover."

The pair hurried to stand, and Kurt took her hand and shouted, "This way."

She followed him, noting his insistence on keeping her hand in his even when she tried to twist free. He pointed to a space between rocks that would offer some shelter. Agreeing that it was a good place, she nodded. "Get to safety," she shouted over the blustering winds.

As she ran back to the beach to grab some bits of sails to use for cover, she realized he'd disobeyed and followed to help her. He hurried around, and she felt there was little point in arguing. What was she going to do, insist that she _had been_ a captain, or he _had been_ her captive? Here, one of them wasn't above the other, and she'd have to learn to cooperate as equals or work on her own. They both stood a better chance of survival together.

They hurried back to the spot he'd shown her, and she quickly tied the sails over the opening, using her knot tying skills to secure them to trees on either side.

Once they were behind the sails in the slight alcove he'd found between rocks, they huddled near the back to wait out the storm. The rain was mostly kept out, but the wind still whipped through the sides and chilled them.

* * *

Over the next few days, she did her best to keep a bit of distance. She'd work until the point of exhaustion, then sleep. They slept in the cave those first few days, gathering supplies for a shelter and exploring the island.

When another storm came shortly before evening, it was too early to pretend to sleep.

"Maybe we should build the shelter up here. We can use the rocks as one wall, we're on higher ground so it won't easily flood," she mentioned, pausing when she heard him crack one of the barrels of rum. "What are you doing?"

"We've earned a few sips of drink," he calmly replied, still apparently unaware that it was _her_ rum, technically. She wondered if he'd remembered anything as of yet, but didn't want to ask for fear of more questions.

"Not too much," she countered.

She took the coconut shell cup he offered and slugged down the rum, enjoying the warmness as it slid down her throat.

"We work well together, don't we?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

She looked at him and nodded, trying to appear interested in the corner of sail that was wildly waving at them in the wind.

"Did we work together often?" he asked. "Was it…something important?"

Lies would be hard to track, so she answered truthfully. "I wasn't just reuniting with my daughter. I was trying to find her. I hired you to assist me. You were the only one I trusted to do so."

"I was?"

She nodded and hoped to hell he'd let it go.

"I worked for you? That's why you seem accustomed to ordering me around?"

"Yes. You were in my employ. I told you I'd make you a wealthy man. I still will. I don't default on my promises, even if those who benefit don't remember them."

"Why did you trust me?" he asked, finishing his cup of rum.

"Because you earned it. No one else did."

After a shrill slap of thunder, he asked, "Did I do something to upset you?"

"I'm not easily upset."

"That isn't what I asked."

She shot an irritated look at him that she thought would have silenced him back when she was _Captain Doe_ , but didn't seem to bother him now.

"Look," he said, softly, "were we…close? Involved? You seem to be angry with me. Perhaps it's because you feel I should remember you?"

"We were close. But I'm not angry about your forgetting. I'm tired of your ceaseless questions."

He gazed softly at her, still undeterred. "How close?"

"Not as close as what you're thinking," she snarled.

"So we weren't lovers," he confirmed.

" _Lovers?_ " she countered, as if the word itself was a horror. "No. We weren't _lovers_."

"Have I hit a nerve?"

She could hear that he was teasing more than pushing, but she didn't enjoy the line of questioning.

"Perhaps we kissed?" he asked, his whisper barely audible above the storm. She scowled, and he added, teasing gently, "I get it. It meant too much for you to make light of it."

"It was just a kiss," she countered, answering before stopping herself. "No more memorable than any other."

He was quiet for a few moments, then asked, "What sort of kiss?" He took her hand and politely pressed his lips to the back of it just above her knuckles. "Like that?"

"No." She pulled her hand away from him.

He leaned just a little closer and asked, "Perhaps like this?" before he kissed her forehead.

The man was infuriating, confounding, practically begging to receive the fullness of her rage. In part, she wanted to scream at him, to ask if he had any idea who he was talking to in so familiar and casual a fashion. But he didn't know, and she wondered, if he did, would he even adjust his behavior accordingly?

Many women would probably blush, or giggle, or gently slap him for his bluntness. But not her. She was determined to remove the smug look from his face. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him over, her lips brazenly meeting his.

The kiss remained still for only a fraction of a second, her tongue tracing the line between his lips and finding that not only did he allow such a touch, but moaned his approval as he allowed her entrance. She'd begun with a fury, wanting to convey a strictly physical attraction, a frenzied meeting of mouths hungry for contact. She pulled away just as decisively and abruptly.

She wished she wasn't left so breathless, barely able to see him in the darkness, but feeling him too close all the same. "Like that. Any further questions?" she somewhat argumentatively answered. Surely that would silence him for a while.

Then she wondered what she'd been hoping to accomplish by acting that way. Initially she'd thought such an abrupt move would stun him enough to silence him for the night, and maybe dissuade him from asking her any more about their pasts. But judging by the way he'd responded, she wasn't sure he'd be all that deterred.

Even worse, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him to be deterred.

She pondered her feelings on the matter, and didn't realize he'd come close again. The breath from his words met her ear as he stated, "Only a few more questions."

Turning quickly toward him, his mouth was waiting for her, capturing her lips, his fingers finding the back of her neck, his palm against her jaw, thumb delicately stroking her cheek. And this kiss, goddammit, was slow and sultry, the heat generated by it even more intense than the fires they'd built nightly. His tongue sought hers, searching her mouth, slowly caressing and probing and making her lose her steadiness. But she sure as hell kissed him back, unable to pull away from something that felt so nice. It was a stolen moment of hedonism that spread beyond the strictly corporeal.

She'd agreed to a conditional surrender, one that would allow her body to chase the gratification that seemed to be offered, but promising herself this would be strictly carnal. Not only allowing but encouraging this kiss, her hand moved to his shoulder and down his chest. The thin linen between his skin and hers did not muffle the drumming of his heart, so furtively pounding that his excitement seemed to exceed hers.

Yes, this could be nice. There was no one here but the two of them, and he was so damned attractive. She'd never denied that. She vowed to herself that this dalliance was physical, limited, and controlled. It could be contained.

For a moment, she almost laughed at the absurdity that they could be something more. Surely he had no deeper feelings for her either. He didn't even remember her, did he? She was a female counterpart he sought as company, a means to an end. After months with her, she knew he'd had no women, and before that he'd been with Briggs, so she suspected his needs at that moment were rather uncomplicated.

This could work.

This could _definitely_ work, she thought, feeling her head grow dizzy at even the prospect of straddling this man. If this was how he kissed, she hoped there were other similar talents to accompany it.

She was quite certain she'd never been kissed so thoroughly or for so long, or enjoyed it so much, but bodies were bodies, and humans were creatures of cause and effect. She waited for his fingers to move into her breeches, or his hand to grab a breast. Soon he'd surely let things progress.

Trying to muster irritation, she couldn't seem to stop being seduced by his lips, too thoroughly distracted to resist. Maybe part of him remembered that she was his Captain, the party who controlled things between them, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. Just as that pivotal moment neared, he paused, pressing his lips first against her chin and next to her forehead, and then putting a thin sliver of space between them.

Feeling rejected, frustrated, and confused, she wasn't certain why he'd stopped, or why he was being so tender. She cleared her throat, recalling who and what she was, and roughly asked, "Find the answers you were looking for this time?"

He nodded, his nose grazing hers. "Some. But also found a few more questions."

Lightning lit up the cave with a brutal flash, and the gust of wind that followed tore the sail, sending a large piece of it into the air. They rushed after it, knowing their supplies were precious and few.


	6. Chapter 6: Cooling Off

**A/N: So sorry for the delay (again). Life is kicking my ass lately. Thank you so much for your encouragement! Here's the next piece.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Cooling Off**

Jane wasn't certain if everything that had happened as of late was horrible misfortune or good luck in disguise. This man she now shared an island with had intrigued her from the start. As she'd grown to know him, that intrigued feeling became more affectionate. He was so different from the pirates, merchants, and mercenaries she'd lived among. That difference made him both alluring and confusing.

Experience warned her to cut these ties with him before any more damage could be done. It also told her how to push him away. All she needed to do was make her confession… _I'm a pirate. I was part of Briggs' fleet and you were my prisoner._

It was all so painfully obvious and simple, one quick conversation and her feelings would no longer be a threat of any kind. He would hate her once more. Even if he agreed to work together for survival, the longing gazes and subtle kindnesses would be gone, and she would be safe.

But she didn't _want_ things to change.

Although she knew it was foolish to consider, she hoped that perhaps if he got to know her just a little better, maybe he could learn to accept the truth when it inevitably came out.

The man was so true. She couldn't think of any other word. Memory or no, he was still the same man. He defied her more, disagreeing with her decisions, and in many ways she preferred that. He was more of a challenge. He didn't seem to disagree just for the sake of discord or because she was a woman, but because he had his own opinions and felt compelled to share them. In recent years, she'd preferred the simple exchanges between captain and obedient members of the crew. All of her interactions had been straightforward, but now she enjoyed the push and pull between equals more than she cared to admit.

* * *

They put all of their efforts into creating a secure shelter over the next few days. Jane wanted to go to work building a boat at once, but knew the most immediate concern should be for their safety and wellbeing.

Some timber from the wreckage or from around the island was reserved for their boat. Other pieces, such as thinner or fractured boards, could be used for the shelter. They were able to fell a few narrower trees with swords and other sharp items, but larger trees would take far too much effort.

Using the materials they had, they built a roof over the rock alcove where they'd hidden before, and added a few feet of space in the front, and a stone and shell pit for fire. Fortunately plenty of rope had been found, and they separated the rope into individual strands of twine to tie the structure together. It wasn't a castle, but they'd stay dry in the storms and sheltered from the fierce tropical sun at the hottest time of day.

He didn't talk much as they worked, and she enjoyed that about him. It seemed most of the pirates she'd known would ramble on, or whistle, or sing rather than sit in silence with another person, but Kurt seemed contented to work. She, too, focused on their chores, but found herself studying him during any pause or convenient moment.

She noticed how, at a certain time of day, the color of his eyes perfectly matched the sea. When he would reach out to hold onto her if she was working in a precarious position, it allowed her to feel the gentleness of his touch juxtaposed by his labor-toughened skin. The way his fingers nimbly tied or untied the stubborn knots in ropes made her feel things that drove her beyond typical distraction. The more she attempted to ignore these temptations, the more she desired them.

Perhaps it was the beating sun, or residual shock from the attack on her ship, or the frightening truth of being stranded, but it seemed that something was robbing her of her good sense.

When they finally finished the structure, she flopped down inside and admired their efforts. As much fun as treasure hunting and thievery could be, she felt a bit of pride that they'd created a sufficient shelter from a pile of scrap, rock, and island vegetation.

* * *

Later that afternoon, after a little rest, he suggested they walk together to gather firewood and fruits, and check the traps to see if they would be having fish for dinner. They hiked a short while, eventually climbing boulders to get to a spot where he said there was a good deal of vegetation and a spring where the water was a bit clearer. Kurt climbed up, carrying the makeshift buckets Jane had fashioned previously, and filled them with water from the spot where the spring burst from the rocks. He handed each bucket down to her once it was full.

She looked around while he climbed from his perch, admiring the beauty of this quiet spot, the colorful flowers, thick verdant vines, and an almost still pool of water just next to them that was probably filled from below by another spring. She took only one step back, enough to give him a bit more room to descend, but her foot met a slick patch on a smooth rock, and before she could even resist, she had fallen completely into the pool with a thunderous splash that shattered the once glassy surface.

As she bobbed in the water, trapped like a soaked sparrow in a deluge, she felt that typical surge of anxiety from within when a misstep was witnessed by others. Captains had to maintain the appearance of control at all times, and, as a woman, it was doubly important that the crew or adversaries never saw weakness of any kind. She'd built a reputation, one based on fearlessness and cruelty, and being bested and dunked by a slippery stone was hardly a show of superiority.

She awaited his laughter or taunting, something that she'd doubtless have to meet with fury, like she always did, but things did not continue as she'd anticipated. A split-second later, he tilted his head, stepped on the same perilous bit of rock, and splashed into the water beside her. Apparently he was also losing his mind.

He happily shouted as he surfaced, shaking his head and sending thousands of tiny droplets toward her face. "What?" he asked, his broad hand wiping the water from his eyes. "You think you're the only one who needed to cool off?"

She had no idea how to respond to him, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. So instead, she observed him as he floated on the water, arms extended widely, carefree and worriless.

She felt so liberated without the worry of mutiny or sabotage or keeping up her façade. Even before she was a pirate, she'd always felt like many people had enjoyed it when she'd made a fool of herself. But for some reason, this man didn't seem to behave that way. He'd jumped into the water next to her, still in his boots and clothes, and had attempted to make it look like the whole thing had been intentional. It was as if he blatantly refused to do anything to destroy her fondness for him.

She went to the bank and hauled herself onto it, sitting with her soles tapping the gradually settling surface of the water. Then she stood, feeling a quiver of nervousness as she considered her actions. Shedding her reservations, she reached for the cloth ties at the top of her shirt. Her fingers struggled for a second or two with the knot, finding it stubborn and difficult to unlace because it was waterlogged.

He lifted his head from the water and asked, "Are you alright?"

She nodded slowly, standing on the rock, still facing him. She pulled the shirt over her head. He looked away immediately as she spread it out flat to dry. Noticing that his eyes were glancing at her, she knew he'd averted his gaze out of politeness alone, and not from disinterest. When his eyes met hers, she had to make efforts to dismiss her omnipresent scowl, instead replying with a subtle but clearly noticed smile. As much as his gaze had been a request, hers had granted permission.

Sitting back down, she pulled off her boots as well, and as she did so, noticed that he was no longer content with floating. He was standing in the water, turned toward her, eyes devouring her body, occasionally checking her expression. She could _feel_ his stare sliding over her skin, leaving a trail of contrasting warmth and shivers on her skin. She could see well enough the way his eyes focused on her belt buckle, like he thought perhaps he could glare it open. Her fingers had never felt so fumbling, but she opened the belt and let her garments fall from her legs to the rocks. She wasn't sure if it was a sense of responsibility or an attempt at nonchalance that made her neatly spread out her clothes to dry.

Her brain was ill-equipped to the task of thinking, though, as she felt her body calling out for someone she'd once tried so hard to keep at bay. She slipped back into the water and went straight to him, determined now that her path had been decided upon. She put her hand to the back of his head and pulled him close, this time kissing him without any timidity. His lips parted on contact, one arm wrapping around her, his hand placed somewhat safely in the center of her back.

They weren't yet pressed together, and as she felt the hot throb between her legs, she wondered if he experienced the same urgency or if his response was chilled by the water. She put her hands at his sides and began stepping backward toward the shore, bringing him along. He was perfectly willing, moving without resistance as directed until her back hit the rock and their bodies collided. His palms moved to her hips and lifted her onto the rocks, and she felt the ridiculously arousing feeling of the rough pads of his fingers on her naked skin, much as she'd imagined.

He hopped up after her, lifting his body until he was kneeling between her legs. She sat, leaning back slightly to make room for him, her lips finding his the moment they were near enough. Crawling over her, his hands balanced on the rock on either side, he lowered his body down to hers. His clothes heavily smacked her skin before his weight pressed on her, the damp fabric warming slightly from the heat and friction of their meeting forms.

His mouth sought her neck and collarbone, nipping and licking while his hands moved over her shoulders and sides. She was a little surprised that he wasn't already shoving inside her. There were a few times when a man had been considerate enough to make sure she was aroused, but never had she known one so content with enjoying these preparations. His knee shifted between her legs, and her hips automatically lifted, her body rocking against him, seeking relief.

She didn't want to peak before he was even unclothed. Her hand moved to his belt, feeling the tented fabric at his breeches making his own interest plain. As if it were an invitation, she grasped his covered hardness with both hands, testing his length and girth, and listened to the way his breath shook in anticipation. He stood quickly and got rid of his boots and breeches and pants, and as he began to return to her, she said, "The shirt, too."

He looked oddly embarrassed for a flash, knowing that he would be on full display once the long shirt was gone, but the needs of his body outweighed any reservations, and he willingly shed the last bit of clothing. He wasn't careful with his garments as she had been, tossing the shirt away without regard for where it landed.

When he returned to her, she scooted up, her legs already parted, knees bending as she wordlessly welcomed. He slowed long before she'd expected, the scruff on his chin brushing the inside of her leg just above the knee before kissing a trail northward.

She was certainly not inexperienced, but had never, ever been touched like this. His gorgeous eyes kept meeting hers for permission, although he never asked verbally, much to her approval. She didn't want him to use his mouth for words, but knew he sought her consent at each step, and would respect her wishes. For a second, she was reminded of a few of the women at the orphanage, rambling on about how sex was for the enjoyment of men, and its only use for women was to control the men. That attitude had always been ridiculous to her, and she was relieved that he seemed to agree.

His mouth skated over her body, finding the apex of her thighs as he guided her knees over his shoulders. Making eye contact for only a moment this time, he parted her flesh and tasted her, his tongue probing her sex, his lips suckling on her clit as her eyes squeezed shut. Perhaps she should have told him that he didn't have to try to win her favor, but that seemed foolish to admit when his mouth was making her feel so wonderful.

He moved lower, sampling her abundant wetness like sacred nectar. As his lips moved onward, sadly far short of the pleasured end she sought, he kissed the dip next to her hip when she felt his finger move inside her. One finger entered her first, pumping with surprising gentleness. A second finger joined soon after, and her back arched sharply, his tongue climbing the ladder of her ribs as he stroked her center.

After a few careful thrusts, his fingers abruptly pushed deep inside her, eliciting a satisfied cry as her hands moved above her head, perfectly content for the only time in her life to surrender all control for a moment. His mouth moved to her breast with equal hastiness, gruffly capturing her nipple, the urgency of his need taking hold. As much as she appreciated his considerateness, she craved to be taken, for the gale to sweep them both up and carry them beyond caution.

As his fingers plunged into her and his tongue fluttered over her breast, she felt the demanding pressure of his cock against her leg, and suddenly her need could no longer be stalled. She shoved him off of her, his still wet fingers obviously missing her warmth. "I wanted to make certain you were ready," he said in his defense.

"I am," she actually chuckled, knowing that she was clearly more ready than she'd probably ever been in her life. "Now I'll make sure you're ready."

His mouth opened with surprise and probably eagerness as she moved over and sat between his thighs, her hands gliding to his hips. God, she wanted to grab hold of his manhood and make his eyes roll up with pleasure, to feel him piercing her body, but she chose a moment, just a moment, of patience. Her hands cupped his sac, gently rolling as she observed the thickly jutting erection that awaited her.

"I am ready," he choked out. Then he smiled sweetly and added, "You have my word."

She giggled, a sound that should have mortified her at any other time. She took one long lick over his sex, learning his shape as he had hers, and sliding her tongue over the silken tip. He appeared to be entirely surrendered to her as well. His surrender was only temporary, though, before he pulled her onto him.

All of the caution and preparation that had made him seem almost too relaxed shattered in an instant, just like she'd disrupted the still pool when she'd fallen in. He flipped them again, and just as she was certain he'd patiently push inside her, he plunged in with one smooth thrust, groaning in an almost feral but grateful way as she whispered her _yes_. Her fingernails dug into the small of his back, pulling him close, wanting to feel him impossibly deep inside her. He brought her ankles to his shoulders, opening her body to him, and without another moment's hesitation, began to move in earnest.

She met him each time with equal enthusiasm, welcoming the robust and hard pace with which they converged. She had never been so ardently fucked, or fucked anyone else with so much passion. His body pressed down on her pleasure point, tiny bursts of physical joy rippling through her each time they found the deepest point of union.

She couldn't hold back any longer. She'd yearned for him for months, and that anticipation was paired with their mutual intensity. She grasped at his flesh as she seemed to gasp without breathing again and again. Her nails jagged at his shoulders and back, leaving marks that would later prove this encounter had occurred. He didn't slow, not in the least, thoroughly needing to reach the same end. His hands gripped her ass as he knelt in front of her, pulling her toward him as his body lunged toward hers. Her orgasm stretched as he kept up the vigorous pace, desperate for release.

As much as she should have been cautious enough to pull away before his climax, she wasn't, and she fully expected to feel him empty himself into her. Apparently he had better presence of mind, because he withdrew from her welcoming body, the lower part of his shaft resting against her beating clit as he spilled his passion onto her stomach. Her fingers stretched and splayed before curling into tight fists when he entered her again with his final moments of hardness, moving more patiently than he'd managed before. Even though she had been satisfied, part of her wished he wasn't even near finished yet, and that they could keep going for hours.

He dropped down next to her, completely drained, her legs still loosely around him. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at the sky. _Damn the consequences_ , she thought as she caught her breath, _sex like this was worth the risk of letting someone close_. The degree of relief she felt exceeded the sexual, but she assured herself the feeling was amplified because it had been quite a while since she'd been well satisfied. Clearly that was all that was going on.

He rolled away from her side for just a minute, taking his wet shirt sleeve and wiping her belly clean before bringing his shirt to the water to rinse it. This time he carefully spread his clothes out to dry across the warm rocks.

Sitting very close, but not touching her, he said, "Well…uhh…"

She chuckled at his apprehension, enjoying what it felt like to make someone nervous for reasons other than fear. Coming to a seated position, leaning back on her palm resting just behind him, she leaned closer and gave him the most tender kiss she'd probably ever given. He breathed an almost inaudible moan as he welcomed her lips. Too much of this sort of sweetness was a bit concerning, so she nibbled his lip, pulling a bit with her teeth as she watched his eyes open and stare back with equal mischief.

"You're a surprising woman," he said, his thumb against his reddened lip, clearly meaning the words as a compliment. "Are you entirely certain we've never done that before?"

"Definitely," she replied, hating the way that his eyes and lips and that affectionate near-smile made her heart flutter just as urgently as her sex had only moments before.

He stood and took her hand, leading her back to the water before he hopped in. She followed, feeling his arms wrap around her almost immediately, her head lying back on his chest as he floated on the water. Her instinct to flee nagged, but she squashed it like a pestering mosquito. Even she was permitted a few lazy and enjoyable hours in her life, wasn't she? She'd had more than her share of unhappy times.

She'd taken a lot of pride in the _Captain Jane Doe_ she'd created and developed. She enjoyed the fear she inspired, the respect that she received, the power that "being" such a person afforded her. That persona had saved her more fights than it had found her, but she had always been ready to back up the legends with actions, if need be.

What she'd never anticipated was how much she would enjoy being _Jane._ It was, to say the least, freeing. Had she been stuck here with her crew, she would have had to keep on her masks, but with Kurt, it was unnecessary. Quite the opposite, it was preferable to keep Captain Doe hidden from him for the time being.

Another silent voice in her head suggested that maybe she could give that all up, forget about piracy and treasures, and just live out her remaining days on that island. Of course that was absurd. She still wanted to find her daughter more than anything in the world, and eventually they'd need supplies they wouldn't find on the island. She also knew that he would probably one day remember their past, and when that happened, he would likely be less than pleased.

There was no future on the island for them, she felt with a sense of sadness and disappointment that astonished her. So instead, she just held onto that moment, committing it to memory to relive on greyer days.

She opened her arms, running her palms over his thighs as she felt his aroused response begin again. Like a row of dominoes, one tumbling into the next, his reaction spurred her own as an excited tremble moved through her.


	7. Chapter 7: Jane and Kurt

A/N-I'll confess, I'm having a difficult time finding my "Jeller feels" right now, but this AU is a happy place for me to play in, so I'm still going. My heart needs this weird story (and all the stories out there) right now. So, here's another chapter. I hope a few of you are still enjoying in spite of my weirdness and the slow pace of posts.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Jane and Kurt  
**

Early that same evening, Jane gathered her clothes from the rocks. The linen shirt and long underpants were dry, although other pieces of her clothing were still damp. She pulled the dry clothes on and carried the rest. Kurt was only just climbing out of the water, and she said, "I'll go on ahead and get the fire going."

Before he had a chance to answer, she grabbed one of the water buckets they'd filled and hurried down to camp. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to go off on her own. She wasn't regretful, unhappy, or ashamed, but yet she wanted a few moments of solitude.

She started the fire and then saw a large fish in one of the tidal pools. Locating a few crabs near the surf, she put them in their cooking bucket and thought they might celebrate their newly finished shelter with a nice meal. After the way they'd spent their day, she was ravenous.

Once she returned from retrieving the fish from the trap, she saw Kurt on the floor of their shelter with the few books they'd managed to salvage on the ground in front of him. At first, she assumed he'd found the map she'd started a few days earlier. She'd taken pages that had had the ink washed away or the blank back sides of pages and tied them together with bits of twine to make a map from what she'd surveyed around the island. She had a good idea of their location based on where they had been when they were attacked.

It wasn't the map that had caught his interest, however. She heard him struggling over a word, "Su—suff—suff—"

She dropped down on one knee next to him, startling him. The way he was lost in his reading made her fondly remember their days reading in her cabin. She missed her ship almost as much as she missed her child. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she assisted him with the word. "Sufficiently."

"Sufficiently," he nodded in gratitude.

"You know how to read?" she asked, testing his recollection.

"Only a little, it seems."

She swiveled to face him, "Do you remember when I taught you?"

"You taught me?"

"Yes. We used to read together nightly."

He gazed at her like he was reaching into her mind, and she stood and backed away. His ability to see her was sometimes deeply disconcerting. "We should eat," she quickly said, and they went about preparing their meal.

* * *

After dinner, they sat at the edge of the shelter, looking down to the beach as they watched the evening waves curl to the shore. Each had a small cup of rum to enjoy, as had seemed to become their tradition. "I'd like to ask you a question. But I don't want to offend or compel you to leave," he said. "But I want to ask anyway. So I'll ask, and if you don't want to answer, just…don't."

Glancing across her shoulder toward him, she nodded succinctly, then stared back at the water to brace for the question.

"What happened to your daughter? Why are you separated?"

Jane exhaled heavily, the ache in her chest never seemed to leave, but felt a bit heavier as she considered her response. Suspecting her moment of thought was a refusal to answer, he started a different topic. "I saw your map. Tomorrow we could—"

"I believe she's in a convent," Jane answered loudly.

"Your daughter?" he sounded as stunned that she'd begun to answer as she felt.

"Yes. She's been housed in different locations from what I have gathered. Monasteries, orphanages, the home of a wealthy Lord that Briggs had under her thumb. She's been moved frequently…now I believe she's in a convent on a secluded island so that I will not find her. She was taken from me not long after she was born."

"By whom?"

Jane cleared her throat. "Captain Briggs. I fought…believe me I tried to fight."

"I'm sure she's a formidable opponent."

"It was more than that. I would have fought to the death to protect my child. Briggs found me moments after I gave birth, which I suspect was her intention. It had been a rough delivery. The midwife told me she was surprised both the child and I survived. I was white as a ghost and weak as a baby myself, they told me. Briggs found me, came in while I was sleeping with my child lying on my chest. When I woke, she ripped the infant from my arms. I hurried from the bed, but my body was so frail I fell to the ground. When I finally stood, she was laughing at me, at my lack of strength. Her first mate hit me with the butt of his rifle, and I was knocked out cold to the ground. When I woke, they were gone. The nurse tried to tend to me, but…I bandaged my wounds and paid a lad to help get me out of there. I've been looking for my little girl every day since."

Jane had no idea what to expect of him, although with what little she knew, she already guessed his reaction would be a kind one. When she turned, the fading sun glinted against faint streaks down his face. He looked away quickly, shaking his head. "Briggs is a monster," he muttered.

"I failed my child. I have never, and _will_ never, be so weak again."

"That's not failure or weakness," he snapped. "It wasn't your fault. What she did was unforgivable. What kind of person can take a newborn child from her sleeping mother's arms?"

"It was my fault. I know exactly how unscrupulous people can be. If only I'd found a safer place, been more cautious. If I get her back, I will keep her safe. I will give her a better life."

"We _will_ find your child, no matter the cost. And Briggs will pay."

He rested his fingers on her shoulder nearest him. It was reassuring, but he wasn't treating her like someone to be pitied, not like some wispy woman unable to protect herself or her offspring. The only thing he seemed to offer was understanding. As the reality of his tears hit her, and the fact that he'd allowed them to fall, she felt her eyes burning with sadness as she, too, allowed a few droplets to escape. He just remained there, like a steady boulder in the center of the drifting sand.

After quite some time, she leaned against him, and his arm circled her back. Oddly enough, she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.

* * *

When she woke, she realized the he'd carried her into the shelter and placed her on the palm mats they'd made. She thought for a moment that she should have been alarmed to sleep through the moment when he'd moved her, since she typically woke at the slightest disturbance. He was near, but had given her a little space between them, a move that seemed to be intentional on his part.

Watching him sleep filled her with a warmly affectionate feeling, and she wondered if he'd watched her and felt anything similar. With each passing day, leaving the island was going to become more difficult. As the rising sun peered through the openings between the boards of their shelter, she knew she had to tell him the truth of who he was, and who she was, and exactly what had happened between them. She hoped that as his memory came back, he'd remember that he didn't hate her once they'd been together for a while. If she waited until they left the island to come clean, it was always possible that he'd be upset and disappear into the vastness of the world before she had time to explain.

Still, even the thought that he'd run away sent her a pang of worry. She'd grown quite attached to him, and there was no point in denying that, or trying to stop it. Days without him sounded far more miserable than days with him.

He was sprawled out more openly than he typically had been when she'd found him sleeping on the ship. Maybe he, too, felt freer in this life. Seeing him like that, she decided that before trying to explain their past to him, she wanted one more lovely day. Hopefully she could store up these memories in case he became more distant once she'd explained everything.

He'd slept in only his undershorts, and was otherwise unclothed. She studied his half-naked form, the shapes of his arms, the metered rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed. Although he was barely covered, she couldn't help but wish he wasn't wearing the only garment he'd bothered to put on.

She scooted closer, and, trying to shift the mat beneath him as little as possible, lay down next to him. Her palm pressed flat against his chest, feeling his heart, his breath, those indicators of life that were taken for granted but somehow had an undeniable power. She slowly ran her fingertips down his torso, enjoying the closeness of someone she'd purposefully avoided touching not so long ago.

Glancing at his face, she stifled a laugh when she saw the fluttering of his eyelids that made it seem clear that he was either only half-sleeping or perhaps fully awake. She opened the ties on his pants, her lips brushing over his shoulder and onto his upper arm. Her hand moved beneath the pants, sliding across his hip before her fingers skimmed over his ass, and she saw prickles emerge along his skin. Her teeth raked over his nipple as she heard a stuttered grunt in his chest.

It was endearing, the way he tried to carefully lean onto his back to give her better access to his body, trying to make it look like the involuntary shifts of a sleeping man. She took advantage of his compliance to lower those inconvenient clothes. Her fingers moved from the soft spot behind his knee, pressing into his inner thigh while she scooted further down his body. Of course he couldn't fully hide his reaction to her, his cock already stirring at her closeness.

Making sure his eyes were still closed with the pretense of sleep, she moved quickly. She twisted and slipped out of her clothes, wanting to feel the heat of his body against her skin. In a heartbeat, she wrapped her lips around his sex, covering him as fully as possible with her mouth as his hands formed fists and he inhaled so sharply it was as if he were stabbed. Once in her mouth, there was no more restraint in the response of his body. He stretched out, the soft whimpers and groans emerging unhindered.

Feeling a little impish, she slid up his body, pausing her attentions. Pinching his earlobe between her teeth, she asked, "Is it alright if I continue?"

"Aye, Captain," he simultaneously chuckled and groaned as he pulled her body flush against him, his erection pressing against her and making her desperately want him inside her.

But his words cut through the hypnotic fog of want she felt, and for only a second, she didn't understand why. She placed her hands on his chest to give a bit of space with which to think. He no longer kept up the pretense of sleep, staring right into her eyes like a man with an urgent need. And with her next drawn breath, she realized what had sounded so strange.

She froze, then pushed harder against his chest and struggled to free herself from his arms until he let go.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes pleading his body's case.

She hurriedly moved away, standing abruptly, grabbing her discarded shirt and holding it in front of her. "You knew," she stated, her voice emerging with icy accusation.

"Knew what?" he asked with attempted innocence. Clearly realizing he'd been discovered, he slowly nodded. "Let me explain—"

"No," she interrupted, backing farther away. Perhaps she should have felt relieved, but she was too stunned and perplexed to allow relief. "How long have you known? Did you ever truly lose your memory, or was that all some game for your amusement? Or perhaps a ploy to manipulate me?"

He sat up, obviously frustrated and trying to activate his mind so he could respond. "I _did_ forget. When we first got here, I had no idea who you were. I swear it."

She leaned against the wall, as far away from him as she could possibly be while still remaining inside the shelter. "When did you remember?" she asked, feeling fury roil within her.

"Not too long after we arrived. A couple of days," he confessed.

"And you withheld this information for what purpose? This was part of some attempt to bed me? Or you hoped to, what, gain my trust and garner the upper hand?"

"Wait a minute," he countered, shaking his head. "That's unfair. You also withheld the truth, if you remember. You could have told me who you were. So perhaps the real question is, why didn't _you_ come forward with an explanation?"

Her mouth opened for a second as she grappled for words. She hadn't even considered that he may counter her question with the same. A thousand wonderful, pirate-worthy retorts came to mind, but seemed poorly placed at that particular time and place. "I'll answer your question after you answer mine."

He sighed lowly, but replied, "You seemed different…happier here on this island. You were fonder of me, or so it seemed. I've cared for you for a while now. I thought if you were happier here with me, just 'Jane and Kurt' instead of 'Captain Doe and Weller,' what harm was there in allowing you to feel that way? Everything seemed better between us once we'd been stripped of those roles. I didn't lie, I just didn't fully share the extent of my memories."

She paused, staring at the floor as her mouth twisted with thought. Finally she looked up at him, accepting his explanation with only a nod.

"You are happier here, aren't you?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she reluctantly mumbled.

"And now you," he insisted. "Why didn't you explain everything to me? Why didn't you tell me I was under your authority, or regale me with stories to make me fear you?"

This conversation was ridiculous. She was far too used to simply walking away from any question she didn't like, or swiftly silencing any man who dared to ask questions she didn't wish to hear. She wasn't sure if caving and replying with the truth made her weaker or stronger.

Rolling her eyes to the side, unable to face him just yet, she answered him. "You were right. I like being here with you, just Jane and Kurt. I am happier here. I enjoy acting as if we're simply two ordinary people in an extraordinary situation. I wasn't sure how you'd feel once you knew the truth. I know you despise pirates, I kept you as my captive, forced you to join up with the very people you hated. It wasn't easy news to share."

"Perhaps you're the one with some missing memories."

"My memories are all intact," she scoffed irritably.

"I cared for you. Even on your ship. You must know that."

"You hated me."

"At first, yes, I admit that. But in time, I realized I hated _Briggs_. I hated her cruelty. But you—you are not Briggs, at least…not to me. We worked together, protected each other. We became allies and companions. Each night, as you sat patiently with me and taught me to read and write…I saw who you truly were, no matter what other people might see when they look at you."

"It was just a way to pass time."

"No it wasn't," he argued immediately. "And neither was reading to me each night, letting me sit next to you in your bed, looking over your shoulder to follow along. Every day I waited for those quiet moments, alone and close to you in your cabin."

"I did too," she admitted, her voice scarcely able to be heard.

He stood, kicking his pants away from his ankles. "Do you have any idea at all how badly I wanted to stay in your bed with you after you were done each night?" He approached, tentatively at first, until she relaxed into place and made it clear that she was going to allow him near. "Did you? Did you ever want me to stay in your bed? To let me kiss you? And touch you?"

Biting her lip for a moment, she lifted her chin to face him without hesitation. "That. And more."

He looked awkwardly shy, simultaneously blushing and cocky. "How much more?"

She knew her returned smile was seductive and devilish by his reaction when he saw it. "A great deal more."

"Perhaps it would be best if you showed me?" he asked with a tone of the utmost seriousness. "So that I'm certain I understand."

"Perhaps," she replied, her lips gently meeting his for a flash of time before the kiss consumed them.

He eagerly ripped away the garment she held in front of herself, lifting her until her neck was brought to his mouth, ravishing her bare shoulder and the flat of her chest like this would be the last moment he'd ever have with a woman in his arms. She felt the smooth stone against her shoulder blades as he lifted her higher, his tongue dancing circles over her breast before nipping at the perked peaks that beckoned him.

"Wait," she ordered, pushing him back again. Their lips were both ruddy and glistening from their impassioned meeting, each breathless and overwhelmingly aroused. He looked stunned and frustrated on top of it all.

She held a hand out, and argued, "I will have to be Captain Doe again one day. And soon. You understand that?"

He shook his head, "No—"

"Yes. That is who I am. I'll have to get a ship, bring my daughter home. All of this here…this is a dream, a reprieve from life that will not last forever."

She expected his retreat, a thought that deeply depressed her. He came close again, refusing to be dissuaded, carefully allowing his hand to slide around her body and pull her fully into his embrace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, and the tip of her nose before he smiled affectionately. " _You_ …are so much more than that. We'll figure it all out. Together. That hasn't changed. It _won't_ change."

She shook her head and thought of contradicting, but next he kissed her lips, his hands sliding down to knead her ass before he lowered their bodies to the ground.

She wondered how a touch could feel desperate and tender without one sensation overriding the other. She'd accepted that she enjoyed his body, and the things he did with it. The feeling of him was already difficult to deny, even if there weren't entanglements of the heart involved. But she wasn't certain she could have one without the other.

"We can and will work this all out," he reassured again, his lips and the warm press of his hard body enticing her to agreement.

The tip of her index finger was powerful enough to convince him to lie flat on his back while she settled over him. There was little point in trying to resist because, ultimately, she didn't wish to.

With one hand splayed across his ribs and the other on his sex, she lowered her body and guided him inside. Once she'd taken him entirely into her, the sound of her unconstrained feminine whimper foreign to her ears, she remained there for a few seconds. Blissfully unaware of anything but her body clinging tightly around him, she appreciated the hot thickness of him within her. And as she opened her eyes and saw his awed expression, staring with not only desire, but admiration and kindness, she commanded, "Don't look at me."

He chuckled softly, sitting up and drawing her chest close to his. "Why?"

His knees fell open and she sat in the cradle of his thighs. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder while his fingers soothed her back. "Because we're not looking right now. We're fucking," she insisted, attempting but failing to remain reproaching.

"I can do both. I'll teach you."

She lifted her head, unable to discern his mood from his tone. She found his steadfastly smiling eyes.

He continued, his fingers surrounding the back of her neck, "How could I turn away from this?"

He pulled her hands around his neck until her forearms rested on his shoulders, his palms slipping to the outsides of her thighs. She lifted up slowly and seductively, her hips doing most of the moving for both of them, hoping the pleasure would silence him. It halted his words, although the groan he replied with sent permeated chills all through her.

As their patience waned, he moved more. He understood how to be with her without being entirely passive or dominant, how to meld and connect with her body without controlling her. She leaned back only a little so she could feel him bump against the front wall of her core, and that alone almost finished her. Her breaths became shallower as her chest and abdomen tightened, and she tried to hold back, even if only for a few more moments.

Because she'd leaned back, he reached his thumb to the spot just above where they met. Only the pad of his thumb circled there, hot and soaked with excitement. She dropped her torso down on his, causing him to fall back, but his thumb was wedged in place. He could only wiggle the digit as she roughly rode him to the end, their cries unwilling to be drown out by the roars of the ocean.

She lay on him, his lips pressed to her head, arms weighing heavily on her back. Once she felt in better control of her faculties, she looked at him, and found his eyes still locked on her. She laughed yet again, feeling she'd experienced more in the last few weeks than in the entire remainder of her life put together.

"What?" he asked as he tried to decipher her outburst.

"You've been satisfied, and yet still you stare."

"Parts of me were sated…for the moment."

"Which parts did I neglect? Here?" she teased, pinching the tip of his elbow. "Tell me so I'll know to give them more attention next time."

He refused to be playful at that moment, no matter how she acted. He took her hand and pressed it tightly against his heart so she could feel its pulses against the bone. In case she didn't understand the implication, he stared at the spot for some time, tracing the backs of her fingers.

When he did look at her, his clear eyes devoted, he said, "No matter how much you give, parts of me will never have enough."


	8. Chapter 8: Mapping

**A/N-I'm not sure if anyone is reading this anymore…I'm so sorry for the delay while I tried to juggle 2 fics at once. It seems silly to write something so light with the things that are going on in cannon, but it felt nice to set the angst aside for a moment. In any event, for those still reading, thank you so much for your comments and favorites, they mean so much to me, and here is a chapter of silly, smutty, fluff…and a tiny bit of plot. Tiny.**

 **Also, I should be posting my other fic tonight or early tomorrow (I hope).**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Mapping**

Even though communication had improved somewhat, Jane was still a mystery to him in so many ways. In the days after their shared confessions, Jane devoted herself to making a boat. Kurt wondered if she felt more prepared to leave since she knew he was still determined to stand by her side.

They searched for felled trees, particularly older ones that could be shaped and used to float upon. After lining them up, they spent hours carving and scraping the trees into shape. His hands bled from their rudimentary tools and splinters and various other hazards, but he continued to work until all of the larger pieces were sufficiently prepared.

Jane gathered other items, like thick dried reeds that he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever seen before, and laid them out between the larger pieces. She began tying all of the timbers together.

While they worked that afternoon, Kurt abruptly asked, "Why did you join her fleet?" as if Jane had been able to hear the unvoiced conversation he'd had in his head.

"What?" Jane asked.

"Briggs. After all she did to you, why did you join her fleet?"

She shrugged, but replied, "I hoped to have access to information about my daughter, largely. Although I told Shepherd it was a matter of survival. The life of a pirate sometimes requires partnering with people you don't like but are necessary."

"I'm surprised she didn't kill you on sight."

"Why's that?"

"Revenge, of course," he answered, still working. "Isn't that what this is all about? You killed her daughter, so she took yours?"

He paused and realized she was staring, her mouth slightly agape and head tilted with uncertainty. She finally asked, "Who told you that?"

"Everyone knows you killed Briggs' daughter."

"Do they?" Jane chuckled, returning to her work.

"Do I have it backwards? Did you kill her daughter as revenge for taking yours?"

"I _am_ her daughter," Jane confessed, tickled by the extent of his surprise. "Or I was."

"No…her daughter wasn't named Jane."

"Her daughter was Alice, Alice Briggs. I once answered to that name. Feels like a different life."

Kurt sat in the sand, taking a break. "I don't understand. You killed yourself?"

Jane rested in front of him on the boat, her feet nearly touching his. "I'll tell you, but you can't tell a soul. That's probably the legend that fortified my reputation, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"So it's not true?"

"It's kind of a long story—"

"And I'm eager to hear it."

"Fine," she sighed. "I was in an orphanage as a child. I was a bit of a troublemaker, so I was sent to work the cane fields to pay off my debt."

"What kind of debt does a child have?"

"You have to repay room, board, and food costs to the orphanage."

His mouth hung open as that truth hurt, the thought that someone considered a parentless child responsible for their own expenses was insanity.

Jane continued, "I hated the orphanage, so I didn't mind being sent to the fields. I'd rather work than be stuck there…unpleasant place. But our ship was attacked. Briggs killed almost everyone. She spared me, said she needed a cabin girl."

"How awful."

"But it wasn't awful at all." Jane smiled, closing her eyes for a second as she relived a memory. "I loved it. Briggs gave me chores, but she paid me for my work. She trusted me, taught me. She eventually considered me her own daughter. I spent the days on the open sea and beautiful beaches. We searched for gold and treasure. I loved the life. I grew up in it. I became friendly with a young man at one of the posts we visited. I hid him from Briggs. But one night, she caught us together. When I returned to the post a few months later, I heard he'd been killed."

"By Briggs?"

"I'm sure, although I have no proof."

"You loved him?"

"I was fond of him. We were young. It was exciting and new. I certainly never wanted him to die for his association with me. But he did die, and I realized shortly after that that I was with child."

"Briggs didn't take the news well?"

"I hid it. Every moment. Fortunately it wasn't obvious for a while. Jackets and vests helped me keep the truth hidden. Someone figured it out though. Briggs cornered me one night. I was certain she was going to kill me, but she didn't. She couldn't have some daughter running around with a whelp at her ankles. She was running a pirate ship, not a nursery. She gave me a choice. She offered to marry me off to this nasty old fuck…a man with whom she wanted to conduct business."

"Or?"

"Or I could 'die.' She was going to fabricate a nemesis. Together we came up with Jane Doe. She promised me my own ship, respect, the chance to be feared and respected. All I had to do was have the baby, give it up to a couple with ample means, and return. And I agreed."

"You did?" he said, feeling stunned that she'd ever accepted the deal.

"Yes. And I thought it was a wonderful idea, at first. I wasn't suited to raise a child. What kind of life could I have given her?"

"What changed?"

"Well, we staged a fight, and I faked _Alice's_ death at the hands of _Jane Doe_. I was sent away to have the baby. I stayed at a sugar plantation not all that different from the one I suppose I would have worked on to repay my debts to the orphanage. I spent quiet days there, reading, walking the grounds. There weren't any fights or battles. Mostly it was just me and my unborn child. I could feel her kicking and moving…I grew attached. At night, I'd lie in bed and put my hand on my stomach, and I swore I felt her pushing against my palm. Like she was reaching out to me. I started to feel some pains, and I panicked. I decided to run away with her, start a new life, somehow. I didn't care where or how, I just knew I had to get away. I realized if Briggs found us, she'd kill my child or me, likely both of us. I left the plantation and went to the nearest town. I should have gone farther, but I could tell the baby was coming soon. A woman in the street escorted me to the local midwife. That's where I had the child…both of us nearly dying in the process, as I've told you. That was where Briggs found us, and took her."

"But you later joined Briggs' fleet. That must have been difficult."

"It was absolute hell. But only Briggs knew where my baby had been taken. I feigned gratitude, and became the _Captain Jane Doe_ you met. Every time I feel like I'm close to finding my little girl, I'm too late. She's always just a little out of my grasp."

"And now you're here," he noted once she'd gone silent.

Jane chuckled, "Yes. Now I'm here."

* * *

That night, the moon was so full and the sky so clear that it looked like the beach was lit by a gigantic lantern. The sand glowed bright white, and the moon carved a pale line through the sea. The waves came to shore with a gentle hush, and the breeze was so scarce it could hardly fill a sail.

The pair sat on the beach, halfway between their home and the water. Kurt placed the map Jane had made on the sand, finding the natural light that night fantastic for viewing. He knelt in front of it and studied until he found which way was north and turned it accordingly. Jane stared into the glowing moon as he asked, "You have a plan?"

"Yea," Jane answered from her spot on the sand next to him. She pointed at the map, "This is where I believe we are."

"Seems right."

"And we need to get here," she pointed to another island. "Remember my contact, Zapata?"

"The woman, your friend, from the bar?"

"Yea. She's there. She can help us get the things we need. Until then, I don't want to be spotted. I don't want anyone to know I'm alive. When the other pirates hear I'm back from the dead, it's going to solidify my reputation."

"We're going to take our little boat the whole way over there?"

"Yea. After we finish the boat and gather our supplies. When the weather looks clear, we'll set sail. It will probably take a few days, but I think we can do it, so long as the skies are clear."

"So we'll be leaving here soon?"

"A week, maybe two. Are you eager to go?"

"No," he admitted. "I enjoy life here."

"You can stay, if you prefer."

"If I stay and you go, the reason why I like it here will be gone."

He watched the way she looked into the waves, trying to ignore his sweetness. She was so tough that only kindness seemed to cut her.

Continuing to speak so she wouldn't have to, he added, "I suppose I'll just have to do what I can to enjoy this place before we go."

He looked at her for a moment, studying the way the moon sometimes glinted off her emerald eyes. What he wouldn't do for her to turn and tell him all of the things she was thinking, her deepest and most hidden desires.

"We'll have to work on that map, though," he said, feeling a hint of mischievousness.

"What's wrong with it?" she countered a little defensively.

"It's incomplete."

"Not for our purposes. And I don't have any more paper. Once we get a ship, we'll get our hands on some new maps."

"I have a better idea. Wait here," he said, hopping up and hurrying back to their shelter to gather the things he needed.

She stared at him like he'd lost his mind, and he was beginning to think she thought him crazy more times than not. He paused in front of her, facing her. She was sitting with her legs crisscrossed, and he very carefully placed the map near her knee. He produced the shells filled with ash and fruit juice that she'd been using as ink. It was imperfect, but worked well enough for their purposes.

"What in the hell are you doing?" she chucked. "Drawing maps in the sand? I don't think we can bring the whole beach with us."

"Sadly, no," he answered. "But we can and will bring you."

"I'd hope so," she nodded slowly.

Her legs were bare from just above the knee. He mixed a little of the fruit juice and ash, and on the inside of her knee began to draw.

"What is that?" she scoffed.

"Trinidad."

"We're not going to Trinidad."

"But good maps show context," he argued. "Let a man finish his work."

"Fine," she shrugged, obviously trying to ignore the tickling of his finger as he worked the makeshift ink into the proper shape on her skin.

He pushed the tattered edge of her breeches up, and said, "Barbados."

She leaned back, bracing her body on her palms as they rested in the sand, watching him intently.

"Damn," he griped, looking over his work.

"Get lost, navigator?" she teased.

"No…it's just…"

"What?"

"I don't have room for St. Lucia."

She laughed, a sound that sang a harmony to the rush of the tides as they slipped onto the shore.

"You'll have to take those off," he argued, pinching the frayed edge of her breeches and tugging just a bit.

"Out here?"

"In the interest of accurate cartography, I can see no other way," he said, summoning every serious and earnest impulse to avoid showing his anticipation. "There's no one here but us. And I'll try not to look." He snickered at the end, knowing damn well she wasn't at all fooled by him.

"Nothing more important to a pirate than her maps," Jane said, standing, unlacing the breeches and lowering them carefully so as to not smudge the map pieces he'd already drawn.

Her shirt still largely covered her. Sensing that she didn't feel like putting her bare ass in the sand, he quickly removed his own nearly destroyed shirt, and placed it down like a blanket for her to sit on. She took her spot, her own shirt draping down to the middle of her thighs, giving her some semblance of modesty.

"Perfect," he announced, content for the moment, knowing he fully intended to argue the shirt off of her too.

He went back to work, and she still waited patiently, her eyes on him at every moment. He put all of his focus into his map, enjoying the access she was giving him to her body. And what a body it was to behold. He was already both enamored with her and drugged by her, in a sense, the desire to be near her so desperate that it made him feel a bit pathetic.

He moved between her legs, flanked by her knees and propped on his elbows. She raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing reprimand, and he explained, "Easier to see from here."

"Aye," she playfully countered, "and I know exactly what you're trying to see."

"St. Lucia," he grinned.

Moving a bit higher up her thigh, he readied more ink and juice, enjoying the slippery feeling of his finger over her skin. He noticed that she was beginning to fidget, feeling like maybe she'd be impatient enough to hurry him along. He felt her thighs open a little more, her body leaning back, and somehow beckoning him closer with her mind alone, like a songless siren. He was willingly mesmerized by her.

He went to work on several other smaller islands next, inching her shirt up until he could see the crease along the top of her thigh. "Windward and Leeward Islands?" she asked, her voice sounding a little breathless.

Making her want him made him feel nearly invincible. "Correct. Proof that my map is really good," he complimented himself.

"Or I know a lot about these isles."

"Nah," he argued, "it's the map."

He moved higher, narrating, "Puerto Rico… Hispaniola… Jamaica…" he commented as he drew each.

He placed his hands over each thigh, and said, "Next…"

Jane leaned back, her fingers digging into the sand. "Yes," she urged him to continue, "next?"

Shifting to her other thigh, so close to her sex that he could feel the heat of her body, he said, "Florida, obviously."

"What?" she practically shouted.

"That's what goes right here," he explained, summoning his best innocent look as his fingers spread over her thus far undecorated thigh. "Were you expecting something else?"

She scowled, a look that would probably send fear through anyone else. He beamed at the frustration he was creating. He painted Florida across her leg, going higher onto the lower part of her stomach, still moving the shirt away but not exposing her sex.

He began, "it would be easier if you removed your—" in the next second, she was tugging the shirt off of her body, her control withering.

The moonbeams reflected off her skin like they did the ocean, dancing with her breath, conforming to her surfaces and creating bright patches and shadows. The way she was willingly spread before him destroyed his focus, and he began wondering if it was worth making her wait any longer.

"We can't forget the rest of the colonies," he said, trying to tease, but his own voice was gruff and lusty.

"Fuck the colonies," she growled, tugging at his arms to bring him up to her.

"What about Georgia?" he said as he licked up her belly, forgoing the ink but drawing his map with only the very tip of his tongue. "Or Carolina?"

Her hands grabbed his head, covering his ears as he continued. She moaned softly through her heaving breaths, even though he'd been careful not to allow any contact at the apex of her thighs where she was obviously directing him. His hands planted firmly in the sand on either side of her, still offering her none of the pressure she was pining for. Her arms reached around him, urging him to drop more of his weight onto her, but he still refused.

"Can't forget New York," he mumbled, his tongue circling her nipple in increasingly smaller circles. The moment his lips joined in the adoration of her breast, her back arched and she lifted up toward him.

She reached down between them, not one used to operating on anyone's timeline but her own, and unlaced his britches. Her hand moved straight to his erection, hurriedly trying to stoke his desire so he'd end the delay.

"Wait," he said, as if it were a matter of the utmost importance.

"What is it?"

"The Straits of Florida," he replied. "Any decent map would have—"

"Dammit, Weller, forget the map," she commanded, beginning to chuckle in spite of her rather intense frustration.

He laughed as he moved down her body, using his palms to spread her thighs wide for him. "I prefer to be thorough. And they'd go right about…"

He'd been slowly lowering his mouth to her sex, and finally fed up, she pushed his face between her legs and silenced him. She groaned a string of curses that would have made the average sailor blush, wriggling beneath him, lifting her hips and grasping his shoulders so he wouldn't even think of pulling away to work on his 'map.' He had no intention, not even a fleeting thought, of stopping now. As his tongue delved and twirled in all of the right places, he wanted nothing more than to make her come and then slide inside her to feel the gripping pulses of her climax.

It didn't take nearly long enough, in some ways, but shortly after he'd begun, he felt her knees shake as her legs held onto his shoulders, her fingers gripping so roughly onto the back of his head that it would have hurt if he hadn't been too damn hot and turned on to care. She moaned so forcefully as she came that he heard the echoes off the rocks behind them, her voice eventually swallowed up by the ocean, but not before the sound was burned into his mind.

She hadn't even fully calmed yet when she pulled him up. She ordered, "I need you."

Her body was still trembling as he plunged into her gushing heat, tightening his jaw as he tried to calm the urge to be swept away with the current. She made the most alluring sounds, her wisping breath against his neck as she clung to him with the last of her power. Pacing and patience be damned, he just let go, hearing her climbing to a second peak.

Each body sought the other as they rolled about on the sand, crashing together in search of relief and the pleasure of two so well-matched being joined. Any ink that had begun to dry dampened as they sweat. She painted his skin with that same ink as she moved, smearing it over him, the slickness of it making their bodies glide together as her flesh slipped over his.

When he dropped on the sand, spent and blissful, he thought he'd probably never be the same. His eyes saw nothing but blackness, his ears hearing nothing but a dull hum, his body uselessly mellow.

Her face came into focus first, looking down on him with a wicked grin. The first thing he heard was her voice as she told him, "Well, the map is ruined."

He looked at her, at the smeared mass of fruit juice and ash that covered much of her lower body. She pointed at him, and he saw the mess that had transferred from her body to his. Slightly winded, he replied, "I guess we'll have to start over."

"We need to get this off of our skin. The bugs will eat us alive as we sleep."

He stood, his legs feeling a little unsteady, like they first had when he'd begun his life at sea. He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and half jogged toward the water. She didn't even pretend to fight him, laughing as she heard his feet splash into the relatively tranquil surf.

Lowering her until her toes touched the water and wrapping his arms around her waist, he turned around and dropped into the ocean, holding her pressed tightly against him. When they surfaced, shaking the water from their faces, he saw the way she looked at him. Her fingers moved to his jaw, and once again, he was nearly paralyzed. She raised her lips to his so delicately that he felt the depth of her affection. Just as he thought his heart might burst with love, she jumped, her hands on his shoulders, and shoved him back down into the water, hanging onto him as he had hung onto her.

After they frolicked there in the waves until the ink was gone and they were thoroughly tired, they decided to head back to the shore. As they stepped over the last set of waves and set foot on dry sand, she reached out and took his hand.


	9. Chapter 9: Setting Sail

**A/N-The next chapter of this is already about half done, so hopefully less of a delay in the next few chaps. I also have that one- (okay maybe two-) shot I'm working on, but I'll try to wrap this one up.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Setting Sail**

Their boat surely was not a work of art, but it seemed functional. It was narrow, brought to a tip at the bow so that it could slice through the waves. They had decided to rig up sails with the cloth they'd salvaged to use the winds to their advantage. The sails weren't nearly big enough to catch the stronger winds aloft, so they also made oars, two for each of them, and fastened them to the boat. If they didn't have a favorable wind, or worse, no wind at all, they could be stranded for days, so they wanted a second method of propulsion.

The plentiful bees had seemed like a curse some days when they headed to the interior of the island, but when Kurt mentioned how useful the wax could be for sealing the boat, Jane decided the bees weren't such a nuisance after all. Kurt made a paste of wax, sand, and thick tree sap, and used that to coat the bottom of the boat and seal the cracks, carefully applying a layer to the bottom of the boat, allowing it to dry, and then applying another layer. This wasn't as good as the thick oils they'd usually use on their ships, but it would hold for a few days, she hoped.

There were so many variables that it was difficult to calculate the exact number of days it would take them to arrive at their destination. Jane guessed anywhere from five to fourteen days, so they prepared provisions accordingly. They each hollowed as many coconuts as they could, carefully scraping out the flesh and drying the remains in the sun. The emptied shells could be used to carry fresh water. Jane used some of the sap and leaves to affix a covering over each coconut so it wouldn't spill too easily.

Jane dried and smoked thin slices of fish over fire, as she'd learned in her travels, hoping that between those bits of dried meat and gathered fruit that they'd have enough to eat.

During the peak heat of the day, they often retired to the pond on the inner part of the island, or took a break in their shelter to avoid the worst of the heat. In the previous few days, the sun had been unrelenting, and they knew they would bake out there on the open water if they didn't have some cover over the boat.

Kurt was seated in the corner of the shelter, doing his best to join bits of sails, cloth, broad leaves, and old clothing to make a canopy for them during their travels. Every last scrap of fabric was used up in preparation. Hopefully staying out of the sun would reduce their need for water and ease their journey.

"I look forward to meeting her," Kurt said, interrupting Jane's inner dialogue.

"Who?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Your daughter, of course."

She sat on the cool stone floor near him, leaning her chin on her tented knees. "You like children?"

"I believe so. I mean…in truth, I don't really know many. As a boy I spent most days working at the docks, as a man I've spent most days at sea. I was looking forward to meeting my niece or nephew."

"Do you plan to have children of your own?" she asked, feeling suddenly flushed with embarrassment for asking a question that could have easily been interpreted as polite conversation. She guessed from his curious and knowing expression that he knew the inquiry was more than mere chatter.

He paused, and pensively replied, "I wasn't certain for a long time. I don't think I'm the type of man who could leave a woman and children back on shore while I'm off at sea. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how I'd make a living any other way. I used to assume I wouldn't have a family for that reason."

"But soon you'll be wealthy," she reminded him. "That treasure I promised you…it's still yours."

His eyes seductively scanned her body, pausing when he tilted his head and replied, "Indeed it is."

"That's not the treasure I was referring to," she admonished with a smirk.

She hoped he'd forgotten their earlier discussion about children, but he continued, "But at a place like this, here on this island, or in a nice home on the shore back in the colonies…I could imagine that quite happily."

"A fairy tale."

"It wouldn't have to be. Sometimes tales are even better in reality. Like you, for instance. I much prefer the reality of Jane Doe to the myth. I can see us, here, or really anywhere where we could still take to the open seas whenever we wanted. You and I, and that beautiful little girl—"

"Wait," Jane nearly stammered, backing away, "no."

"No?"

"I didn't mean with me. You deserve far better than—"

"You deserve better as well," he interrupted. "But I'll work to be worthy of you and—"

"This life you're imagining will not happen. At least not with me," Jane hurried to her feet and went toward the door, but he quickly followed and grasped for her hand.

Strangely, his grip was delicate and gentle, not enough to leave whitened temporary imprints on her skin or forcibly turn her around. But for some reason, that tender touch had greater pull than any powerful one could have. "Don't go," he quietly added. "You're all I want. A life with you, wherever you wish to spend it. I'll help look after your child, and—"

"As I said, a fairy tale…a dream, at best. She doesn't even know me, Kurt," Jane replied with a tone of cold intensity.

"Of course she—"

"She doesn't. Her eyes barely opened a moment while I had her. Then she was gone. She's three now. I'm a stranger to her, I'll probably terrify the girl. As much as I'd love for her to run to me the moment she sees me, I sincerely doubt that will be her reaction. She'll see me as a kidnapper, someone to fear."

"For a moment perhaps. But in time, she'll grow to know you as I have. And she will love you. That I know."

Jane felt a dizziness she seldom felt, not one to be taken off guard.

"I love you with my whole heart," he answered solemnly. "And I'll love that pretty, fiery little girl as well."

"You don't know that she's fiery, or pretty, and you certainly don't know that you'll love her."

"Yes, I do," he said, his hand sliding casually around Jane's waist. "Your willfulness and beauty are powerful forces, and I refuse to believe those qualities would not be passed on to your child."

"Then you'd be wise to make other arrangements before you have two of us to contend with."

"That is exactly what I hope for. If you'll have me, I'm yours," he vowed. "I don't have much to offer you now, and the wealth I stand to acquire comes from you. But I will be faithful. I'll treat you with respect, and devotion, a life as an equal half of a whole. I'll willingly give you as many children as you want—"

"And if I don't want any more?" she challenged, hoping that he'd back away if she displayed some resistance. She'd never hoped to be married, and certainly didn't want a proposal at that moment.

"Then I'll raise your child as my own."

"Kurt, I—"

"Hear me out, please," he said with a sense of determination. "Soon we'll be gone from here. This island, our time together…I don't want it to be forgotten. I know I should wait until I have my fortune, offer you more than what I have right now, because I have nothing to give you, no ring or home to offer. But I worry that once we've returned to the world, you'll slip away from me and never look back—"

She said so softly even her own ears could barely hear, "You may feel you have nothing to offer…but the things you have are worth more than any ring or property. But I don't want you to imagine a life we can never have together. I can't promise my future to you."

"I understand," he said quietly, his embrace falling away from her.

"I care for you," she confessed, "deeply. If you're ready to settle with a home and wife, then I wish you nothing but happiness. Maybe one day, when I've done the things I need to do, I will seek you out and if you're still free—"

"I will be very easy to find," he promised. "I will be by your side, exactly where I belong."

He stepped away and sat on the floor, silently returning to his task of creating a canopy

* * *

In spite of the acceptance and patience he outwardly displayed, she felt a sense of sadness radiating from him in the wake of her rejection. Part of her wanted to forget everything, to offer him the life he wanted, but, if anything, her hesitation was proof that she cared for him. She already felt an expanse of guilt for losing her child, and until she could find the girl, she knew she wasn't truly free to be with anyone. Her future, her existence, belonged to that child. But a new sense of guilt had befallen her, one borne of the regret she felt for hurting the man she loved more than any she'd known.

He tried desperately to hide the disappointment that he so obviously felt, and carry on as if nothing had changed. He smiled sweetly at her when they worked, and politely handed her whatever implement she needed, and shared his water when she was thirsty. He seemed most melancholy after their moments of intimacy, as if he felt his loss most acutely when he held her in his arms. He didn't pressure her, though, remaining devotedly by her side while they prepared to leave. And he didn't mention the topic of their future again.

Late in the evening, three days later, she announced, "The skies look clear, and I don't see any signs of foul weather. Tomorrow, we leave just before sunrise."

He bobbed his head in agreement. "I'll load the rest of the provisions tonight so we're prepared."

She watched Kurt gather two of the makeshift baskets of items and carry them down the shore to the boat, sand displaced with each of his heavy steps. Her heart sank as she watched him walk away, even though she knew he'd come right back, at least for the time being.

Perhaps it was their impending departure, or the image of him walking away, or the rising ache she felt for causing him pain, but she ran down the sand and moved in front of him, blocking his progress to the boat. He quickly dropped the supplies and spun around, prepared to fight whatever had made her run so hurriedly. When he didn't see any threat, he breathlessly asked, "What happened?"

"No, Kurt…it's nothing," she awkwardly chuckled. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

"What is it?" he gently coaxed. "Are you alright?"

"No. It seems I'm not alright."

He looked over her, searching for wounds or physical damage.

"I'm not hurt," she added. "At least…my body isn't. I'm so sorry I caused you pain, rejected you, and—"

"Forget about it," he dismissed. "I'm just f—"

"No," she insisted. "I know you well enough to know I hurt you. And I need to explain. I need you to understand."

"Understand what?"

"I feel so terrible for failing my daughter." She began, and when she sensed that he was about to intervene to make her feel better, she added, "Please, let me finish. I don't deserve a man like you, or a home or laughter or happiness. I don't deserve to contemplate a future until I make things right for her. Every second of happiness I feel is followed by this horrible guilt. What if she's suffering? What if people are hurting her? It's my fault she's out there, with no one to protect her. Whatever happens to her is my responsibility."

"It's Briggs' fault she's out there, not yours."

"And yet…it still feels like my fault. She was far more defenseless than I when she was taken. I was the one charged with caring for her, with providing protection from this world and monsters like Briggs until she could fend for herself."

"Jane," he tried to pull her into a hug that she backed away from.

"I need you to know…that I love you, too. You're a good and decent man, and your companionship has meant more to me than I can explain. But I'm not free to be with you. I can't go on with my life until I make sure she's safe. No matter what happens, I just, I want you to know what you mean to me. That what has happened between us…is real for me, too. And if I were free to be with you, I would gladly have you."

"You mean _when_ you're free," he insisted. "Because that day will come soon. I'm certain."

"Well, if it does come soon, I hope you'll still feel the same about me. And if you don't—"

"I already know I will," he replied.

This time when he reached for her, she allowed the hug, and was swallowed up into his arms. Thankfully he didn't say anything else to try to assuage her guilt, or convince her she wasn't at fault for what had happened. No amount of logical explanation would ease her pain or sense of responsibility. But somehow, his certain and unwavering support made it seem as if anything were possible.

* * *

The next morning, as thin clouds stacked like staggered dashes across the sky, Kurt and Jane took a last look at the place they'd called home, and set sail once again. This boat lacked the might and grandeur of her last ship, but as a product of their work and ingenuity, it was something they were quite proud of.

As they sailed away, Jane watched the shelter grow smaller until it disappeared from sight. She'd never really committed to returning one day, but as her home vanished into the sandy mist, she quietly promised her disappointed heart that she'd see that place again.

Riding on that tiny boat was monotonous compared to their varied days on the island. They spoke only occasionally, both exhausted from rowing during nearly every waking moment. They quickly missed their former shelter and the freedom and beauty of the place they'd temporarily called home. Jane fondly remembered the quiet evenings sitting on the sand, meals cooked over glowing fires, and afternoon swims, even though she was excited to finally make progress in their journey.

There wasn't time to waste. If they were caught on the open seas by the wrong captain or crew, they'd surely be killed, so there was a heady sense of urgency beyond her desire to find her daughter. Both had hands covered in blisters from the constant rowing, and the muscles all along their backs, shoulders, and up their arms screamed from overuse, but neither slowed any more than necessary. They took turns in the sheltered spot on the boat out of the sun, to rest, or to quickly consume some of the food they'd brought, but otherwise were unrelentingly devoted to their work.

Thanks to their dedication and persistence, it took only six days to make it back to the island where Zapata lived. Hopefully she could help them secure a better vessel.

They hid their boat in the reeds. Jane and Kurt coated their faces and bodies, especially her doe tattoo, with mud and sand, and he stole a hat for her to cover her face to be sure she wasn't recognized.

Walking to the back entrance of Zapata's tavern near closing time, they peered through the door and waited to spot her. So far, they were relatively certain they hadn't been identified, and didn't want impatience to get them caught now when they'd come so far. When Zapata came into sight, she grabbed a rifle for protection and said, "Get the hell out of here. I don't know what you're planning but you picked the wrong—"

Zapata lowered the gun when Jane lifted her hat and smiled at her through the layers of muck. Zapata's mouth opened and she whispered, "You're alive," before she shook her head with disbelief and threw her arms around her filthy friend. "I fucking knew you wouldn't let them kill you."

Jane's friend didn't appear to mind the messy hug, until her shock wore off. "What the hell happened to you?" Zapata asked as she stepped back and looked down at the dirt-shadow left on her clothes from the embrace.

"Kind of a long story," Jane replied. "For now, I want everyone to continue to believe I'm dead."

"Weller? Is that Weller?" Zapata asked with impressed suprise.

"Still alive, thanks to the Captain," he answered.

"I told you to keep him. And for once, you listened." Zapata pushed them out into the alley behind the tavern. "Listen, they moved her again," she whispered.

Jane felt like her legs were going to give out from under her. After all of that, she wondered how long it would take to find another lead on her daughter. All of that work, the days of sailing, and they were no closer. She wondered if the girl had any idea how desperately her mother wanted to find her.

"Every time I get close," Jane griped through gritted teeth.

"No," Zapata shook her head, "You don't understand. I have it on good authority that she's closer, a day's journey away at most, at Ville de St. Jean. But rumor has it that Briggs is personally coming to get her, and soon. So we don't have much time."


	10. Chapter 10: The Count and Countess

**Chapter 10: The Count and Countess Jensan**

Zapata had a room over the tavern. It wasn't much, but Jane and Kurt finally had a chance to clean up and change into cleaner clothes. Jane told her friend all about Briggs' attack, and the island where they'd found themselves stranded.

Early the next morning, Zapata woke the pair and said, "I think I found you safe transport."

"How can you be certain it isn't a trap, perhaps one of Briggs' associates?" Kurt asked.

"I don't think so. The Captain has no love for Briggs. And his associate, Patterson, is the one who has given me every lead on your daughter. If someone wants to know something, they ask Patterson."

"When can we meet him?"

"Her," Zapata corrected. "You'll meet Patterson and the Captain at an abandoned house outside of town. I'll take you there."

Jane kept the hat Kurt had stolen for her, and tied a scarf around her wrist to be sure the tattoo that identified her was covered. Zapata smuggled them out of town in a donkey-drawn cart so no one would see that she had company.

The meeting spot was an eerily overgrown house, with branches from surrounding trees growing through the windows and vines hanging all around. "I don't like this," Kurt whispered to her while she scanned the area for any reason for concern.

"Zapata is careful," Jane replied. "She wouldn't knowingly lead us into a trap."

"Briggs found us before and attacked," Kurt warned. "How can you be sure Zapata wasn't the one who turned on you?"

"She didn't. I just know."

Accepting the argument would do nothing to aid his cause, Kurt followed Jane as she met up with Zapata. Just before they went inside, Jane whispered, "Just in case…stay alert."

The house was dimly lit, and it took a few moments for Jane's eyes to adjust well enough to see. When she did, she saw only two people where she'd expected to find at least five of the Captain's associates. The man approached, held out his hand and introduced himself. "Reade, Captain of the _Wolverine_. You're Jane Doe?"

"Not what you were expecting?" she asked as she shook his offered hand.

"I try not to expect things…less chance of being wrong that way," he replied with an understated smile. Gesturing toward a woman who was staring at documents lit only by a rather pathetic candle, he added, "This…is Patterson."

"Weller," Kurt said, trying to introduce himself to the studious woman, but surprised when she shushed him and waved him away.

"She's a bit distracted right now," Reade explained. "We can talk over here."

Giving Patterson a little space, Reade joined Kurt, Jane, and Zapata on the other side of the room. "Zapata said you've had a bit of a…conflict…with Briggs?" Captain Reade began.

"That's one way to say it," Jane replied. She knew it was time to decide how much to trust this man. If he was working for Briggs, they were probably already in great danger. She saw Kurt casually strolling around the space, peering into the adjacent rooms, and he didn't seem to find anyone else. If she was going to convince Reade to trust her, she would have to at least open up a little.

There was something so familiar about him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She told him part of her story, the part about Briggs taking her child, and he listened with patient empathy.

When she finished, he said, "Leaving out one important detail, aren't you… _Alice_?"

Jane shook her head, so shocked that he'd used that name. "What?"

"I met you once, when we were children," he explained. "My father had dealings with Briggs."

Jane felt suddenly concerned, wondering if Reade had some allegiance to the woman.

"It didn't end well," Reade smiled sadly. "The moment my father was no longer useful, he was dead."

On the other side of the room, Patterson gasped and smacked the table, hurrying over to Reade and showing him something she'd been working on.

"What is that?" Jane boldly asked.

Reade and Patterson exchanged a look, and when he nodded his agreement, Patterson explained. Speaking with rapid fire excitement, she said, "Briggs sends all of her communications encoded. The codes change, and, from what I can tell, only two people know the key…Briggs, and one of her top men. It took me a few minutes, but I cracked their latest code, I know the plan."

"Patterson can crack any code, solve any riddle," Reade explained.

"Eh, I have a knack," she said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her pride in her talents.

"She's the one who has given me all of the leads on your daughter," Zapata credited.

"We need to try to avoid bloodshed," Kurt said. "We don't want the girl to get hurt during the rescue."

"Then you're really going to appreciate my code breaking skills," Patterson crowed.

"Why's that?"

Reade continued, "Patterson cracked the latest communication. It states that your child will be given to Adlar Jansen and his wife. His father, Count Daniel Jansen has great sway with the Dutch Trading Companies. It sounds like your child is being exchanged as part of a deal to allow Briggs and her fleet to sail without interference."

"She's _selling_ my daughter?" Jane growled.

"Does that really surprise you? She's done things far worse than that," Patterson replied, still full of enthusiasm.

"You know as well as anyone just how far Briggs will go," Reade added.

"There is good news," Patterson offered. "Well, everyone knows Daniel Jansen…but most people haven't met his son. He's been studying at Oxford the last few years. He and his wife are on their way to finalize the deal and get the child."

"And?" Kurt followed up.

"If no one knows what Adlar looks like," Patterson replied like the idea was obvious, "What's to stop you from posing as Adlar and his wife, and going to see the girl? Look, if you get there before the real Jansens, you can find the child, maybe even get her to safety before Briggs shows up."

"That's good," Jane replied, nodding at Kurt.

"But my crew knows Patterson," Reade added. "Doe, we'll have to send you and Weller in as the Count and Countess."

"You're going to need a decent dress," Patterson added.

"And to cover that tattoo," Reade chimed in.

"You're going to have to look…like a lady."

"Me?" Jane said, shaking her head.

"Yes, you," Kurt replied. "You're not going to be happy waiting around while someone else goes in and finds your daughter, so it's best if you come with me."

"I could be a guard, or a servant," Jane suggested.

"A female guard is going to make them suspicious, draw attention," Reade stated. "You're somewhat recognizable, but without the tattoo and pirate clothes, and given the fact that you're supposed to be dead…I don't think anyone will realize who you are until it's too late."

"You could be seeing your daughter tomorrow evening," Patterson added.

"Okay," Jane said, exchanging glances with Kurt. "I don't have any dresses or—"

"Leave that to me," Patterson replied.

"We'll have to teach you to be a proper lady," Zapata added, unsuccessfully muting her snicker.

"What about him?" Patterson asked, pointing at Kurt.

"Oh." Zapata stared at Kurt like he was going to be the bigger problem. "You need to make them believe you've been at Oxford, taught to be an English Gentleman, raised as part of the Dutch royal class…you think you can handle that?"

"Of course," Kurt huffed.

Reade's eyes widened with disbelief, and he turned to Patterson and Zapata and said, "Good luck with that one. They'll have to be …ugh…transformed…before they get on the ship. Every person on my crew needs to believe these two are who we say they are."

"You guys stay here," Patterson said. She turned to Zapata and added, "Come to town with me, help me get everything we need."

"I'll return to my ship and tell the crew we're expecting guests," Reade added.

"We didn't discuss payment," Jane said. "I know the risks you're taking, and I'm sure you want to be compensated."

"Briggs is a menace," Reade spat. "And when she took my father from me…" his voice fell off as he shook his head. "This is personal. You get your daughter, and I get a chance at Briggs."

Jane nodded, but came closer. "If you help me get my daughter back, I'll make certain you're rewarded."

Reade shook her hand. "I'll see you at the docks by dusk."

* * *

Jane had been through various hells in her life, but that afternoon was a whole new kind. When Zapata and Patterson returned with arms full of paper wrapped parcels, she wondered why on earth they thought she would need so many items.

Patterson opened some of the packages, and Jane cringed as she saw the equipment necessary to make her look like a proper lady.

"Is this all really necessary," Jane sneered.

"You always said you'd do whatever it takes," Zapata replied. Gesturing at the clothing, she added, "This…is what it takes."

It wasn't as bad as Jane had expected, it was _worse_. Although she was quite slim, the bone enforced stay pushed her into a shape that wasn't quite natural, and her posture into something a bit too erect. There was a silk petticoat, a linen shift, and all of the ghastly garments were nothing more than underwear to build the rest of her costume on.

The dress, long and weighty, fell over something that looked like scaffolding. Her sleeves were puffy and ruffled, layer upon layer of things she'd never wear. As if she weren't hot enough already, crammed into this strange wrapping, they adorned her head with a fancy broad-rimmed hat, and covered her shoulders with a silky kerchief.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she was certain she'd been abducted, and replaced by a strange twin. "You look lovely. A perfect lady," Patterson praised.

The dress, pale blue and unendingly feminine, confused Jane. "How am I to keep this clean while we sail? There's so many layers I won't be able to move."

Patterson and Zapata exchanged a long, nervous look, and then Zapata said, "You don't need to move. You'll sit on the ship. Maybe stroll around. You won't do anything that might make you dirty."

Jane glanced at herself in the mirror again, her dark hair scarcely visible beneath the hat, green eyes vibrant against so many muted colors. She closed her eyes, and imagined the moment when her child was finally there before her. She firmed her jaw and nodded at her reflection. "Let's go."

"Not quite," Patterson said.

"You can't walk like that," Zapata added.

"Like what?" Jane countered.

The two assistants pointed at her, Zapata turning Jane back toward the mirror. Jane's arms were crossed, legs in the wide stance of someone used to absorbing the movement of the ocean. "Like a pirate," Patterson answered.

"Can you show her what she needs to do?" Zapata asked.

"I'll do my best," Patterson skeptically replied. "Can you go make sure Weller is ready?"

Zapata grimaced slightly, then parroted Patterson, "I'll do my best."

* * *

When Jane was finally brought to Reade's ship, crammed and strapped into her costume and stuffed with instructions on ladylike behavior, she didn't see Kurt waiting for her. She was told he was on deck. Finally, the tall gentleman standing near the bow turned toward her and her mouth momentarily gaped with surprise.

Kurt was entirely clean shaven, with a long doublet jacket and waistcoat, hose, and white linen stocks around his neck. She watched the way he admiringly gawked at her, and, filled with awkwardness, she burst out a laugh. His face scrunched for a moment before he stepped over to her and extended his hand to help her come to join him.

Stifling the instinct to push his offered hand away, she politely nodded and hooked her fingers over his in the way that Patterson had shown her. She noticed how Kurt scanned the crew working around them, and she realized that several of the men were looking at her with similar approval.

"I'm sorry I laughed," she whispered. "This is really strange."

"It's not a problem," he replied softly. "It's as strange to me as it is to you. But you look very lovely."

"Thank you. I truly can't wait to rip these garments off and never wear them again."

"Funny," he responded with a gentle smile, "I'd love to do the same thing to your garments. Although I suspect for different reasons."

She felt herself flush, still not quite accustomed to his flattery.

* * *

Jane had an incredibly difficult time remaining passive on the ship. She felt like she should be doing _something_. Few times in her life were so idle. As comfortable as it felt to be sailing again, it wasn't truly home as long as she stood there like a useless decoration.

Kurt remained by her side as much as possible. Nervousness built between them. She was grateful for his silent strength, standing next to her as resolutely as a man could stand. Jane wanted to be hopeful, to feel like this was the last step in the journey, but she'd been disappointed so many times that she tried to mellow her expectations.

She was deep in thought when Kurt gently took her elbow, and pointed to something in the distance. "Ville de St. Jean," he explained.

Jane felt a wave of anxiety as she looked at the looming fortress in the distance. Hopefully her daughter was behind those walls.

"Almost there," he added.

She was too overcome to talk, her mind already trying to play through scenarios and possibilities, to be prepared for whatever may happen.

"You're meant to be at sea, aren't you?" he whispered.

She nodded and replied, "It is my home. My life."

"I'd love to share that life with you," he shyly said, looking down on his hand as it gripped the rail. "With both of you."

Her instinct was to push him away. His words, his devotion, sometimes frightened her in their intensity. Funny, she was entirely unafraid of things that made most people scream and shiver, but words could bring her to panic. She saw the way he looked down, dejected by her lack of response.

Finally, she answered, "If I could have the sea, and my daughter, and share those with you…that is the only life I wish to live."

His hand tightened on hers, and she saw his smile even though she didn't look directly at his face. Her eyes were stuck on the fortress in the near distance. It seemed like it was all at once hurdling toward her too quickly, and still too far away.

Patterson approached. "We're here!" she said with overt enthusiasm, lacking Jane's worry. "Time to meet your daughter."


End file.
